Balance - A Poem
I used to think balance was a destination. It’s existence the concept of perfection where I could be at peace and finally rest.
The home of a thousand hours. It’s minutes coins in my pocket and I could decide their power .
Ideal calibration, and things like desire and pleasure were never measured in its distillation.
But instead I found exception.
Broken things that needed fixing on weekends.
Discovering that balance was never captured in singularity but defined by it’s ability to move .
A continual push and release. Between two sides. With the hopes of spending most of the time in the middle.