By Juniper Cassaway
In a weird way, everything is circular. Everything is round. Everything makes sense when coming from the people in my life who make the most sense. A dear person to me once said:
The rain passes through the city
The city is wet,
The city is not rain.
-in relation to a discussion about how we seem to assimilate to our experiences when we are only meant to have them happen to us, not become us. And… I think about it often. I think about how the events of a day is how my day went, not how my day was. I think about how I put on clothes, I am not fabric. I think about how I consume food products, I am not a food. And yes, one may think I am oversimplifying what this all means but sometimes, it helps remind me that I am in the south, I am not The South. I am living through people’s hellish decisions, I am not hell. None of these these crazy thoughts and ideas about who I am are WHO I AM. I am but passing through. I am passing through.
Currently residing in Baton Rouge