come on feet

I let myself hang from the ceiling, the ground below flickering through the outlines of my swinging legs. I hang from the rafters because I want to see what's below and around me. But I can't help but wonder if I dropped, would I feel more alive? I could do tangible things with tangible people if I so let my grasp loosen and my mind slip into repose. I think I will.

All of this is futile, and at the same time efficient, necessary, and beautiful.