F. Scott’s Findings
I feel absolutely, wretchedly, restless.
My brain thinks everything is important
and while most things are important
not everything can be important
because then what’s important?
The cycle repeats. Asks me what I want,
I answer differently depending on when
you question me. I’m sorry. I don’t know
what to tell you. It all seems important.
I want to do it all.
Every
single
thing,
all of it. I remember
reading this phrase daily in college,
through a window on
a forgotten letter pressed paper:
“I want
it all,
and I am going
to get it.”
ever since I read that
my brain has been wandering
and I feel like
I might need to go get it.
I’m not sure
quite yet
what my journey
means for me to find;
not quite sure
yet of the eyes that
wait as I pass
over the bridge.
I remember
reading an
F. Scott Fitzgerald
quote:
“I wish
I had done
everything on Earth
with you.”
and ever since I read
that I’ve been searching
for the love that
F. Scott felt in his heartbreak.
When his life was
left ripped open,
empty bottles and confetti
everywhere,
how did
F. Scott
Find what he thought
was important?
“I wish
I had done
everything on Earth
with you.”
Ever since I
read that my heart
has been out
and I feel like I might need to
go get it.
I don’t know what
to tell you; I’m sorry.
I just can’t decide
when the eyes
seem to say
everything is
important.
