Drifter

I sit here, restless, an infernal itch beneath my skin starting off small, like the feeling one gets when they want to pick at a spot, increasing to a point where it feels as though something is clawing on my insides, demanding to be released. This awareness of something I crave for scares me, making me reserved, controlling my actions, playing it safe. But a tiny piece of me thrives on this sensation, possibly my sub conscious already knowing what I desire making me feel bewildered and thrilled at the same time as I wait for this inevitable revelation in anticipation. Sometimes it feels as though I’m nearly there. Instead it taunts me slipping through my fingers, moving away in the wrong direction, tempting me, like reaching out for a message in a bottle bobbing in the water. Or even worse, lets me savor the feel of this revelation, as though merely touching this imaginary bottle will reveal the deepest secret, letting me bathe in the calm which washes over me for a fraction of a second, then pitilessly snatching it away from my clasp as a strong current comes in. Refusing to return, it only acknowledges me by rejecting my plea to register what I had captured. The only thing comprehensible is that this bottle, containing the hidden wisdom, will offer happiness, peace and fulfillment. Not caring how it dampens my mood, it floats away, leaving me yearning for a chance again to win this inner battle. The ache disturbs my sleep keeping me awake hours on end, or comes mercilessly to haunt me in my dreams, making me feel detached from my mind, body and soul in my own virtual reality. Urging me to search, find and analyse. What exactly, I still do not know. Even then, still drifting….always drifting.