Drifting in the wind. Drifting down the river. It looks like drift wood. The wind carries it down the fast current. It has no direction; just drifting mindlessly here and there. Going with the flow.
A place you need to be, right now, meandering in and out of the limbo that is half-sleep. Autumn light streams through translucent, almost sheer cloth, a remnant blue of summer. There are creatures in the dark, hiding behind your lids, but you need to give yourself over to them before the word of yesterday overtakes you.
You found me drifting. I thought you would be worth nothing like all the rest, but instead you took me with you. And we both drift now. And forever, together.
When I looked over, I noticed you were drifting away.
Where are you going? Are you going to stay?
Tell me now, what I need to prevent you from drifting away.
And there I was, drifting out into the ocean on a shitty little raft that I put together with some logs and vine material. I’d never been more absolutely terrified in my entire life. What was I supposed to do now? I have 13 people out to kill me, I’m afraid of open water and I can’t swim. How am I supposed to kill everyone else if I’m too afraid of drowning out here if I step off this raft? Maybe I’m just saving everyone else the trouble of killing me by doing this. I didn’t even bring food with me and I’m almost surely going to starve to death before I drift off to either shore.
Drifting… like that lone piece of wood amongst the waves of the sea. Where it came from, no one really knows. It never makes it to shore. And yet it’s never free.
The sun was beaming down onto the grey footpath, throngs of people either side rushing to get home to bask in the bright light of the UV rays. I was the one taking my time, slowing drifting through the crowds, absorbing the frenzied looks on their faces. The same kind of emotion that they portray when the rain is pounding down upon their heads. Maybe the weather is irrelevant, maybe they just frenzy in the evening in a desperate attempt to run from the jobs they wish they never got.
there a gust, to my left
driven and darting
dashing me against the curb
until the hubcap grids and sparks
torn against the concrete
flinting and switchblading against
the grit, until finally twists against itself
the tire bursting, sending everything
against the verge
to wrap around the lampost
my forehead as soft as my liver
split against the light
Drifting apart is sadly not an option for us, because our skin has grown together like the skin of siamese twins. We transcend into each other, no one will ever grasp where I stop and you begin. We are two portraits sharing a single canvas, we are a single tree wearing two crowns. To call myself the sun and you the moon would be inaccurate – because we are made of the same mass, we contain the same roaring fire. The same power. The same weakness. The same urge to cut free of the umbilical cord that keeps us wired together. Yet we can not.
When I think about drifting I think about my mind and how it wanders or how I daydream. I think about my mind drifting away into thoughts about past events or events I look forward to in the future. Sometimes they’re thoughts that I wish would happen but there is no promise of them happening.
John turned fitfully in his sleep, drifting from nightmare to wakefulness to bizzare dreams to NREM and back. He was vaguely, unconciously aware that he was not alone, that a gentle weight rested around his waist which lifted to allow freedom of movement each time he stirred. It always wrapped back around him, though, and gripped a little tighter when John’s limbs struck out in fear. Finally, the nightmares faded and didn’t return. John settled in comfortably, nestling in against the warm body with a thankful squeeze around the waist. It was thinner than his arm was accustomed to holding at night, but thay thought didn’t register as important until he became more conscious.
As he woke, the sunbeam graciously blocked by an angular shoulder, John was momentarily disoriented. His mind had formed a connection between sleeping with company and awakening in a strange room, so the sight of his own familiar surroundings threw him through a loop. As did the chest pressed against his own, soft enough but not laden with extra padding. John’s gaze followed the sternum up to a multitude of chins, as Sherlock peered down at him with a bemused expression.
“Your alarm didn’t go off, so I let you sleep,” he murmured gently, leaning in to press his nose and lips into John’s hair.
John suddenly remembered the events of the previous day and gave a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, er… My alarm won’t be going off anymore for a while.”
Beneath the brightly light stars that hung over head, I lied on top of the cool midnight grass. Slowly, my soul and spirit began to leave my body. I awaited the paradise I would soon see and I slowly drifted away from the only life I’ve ever known.
The dead log moved up and down, drifting on the rolling water. It reminded me of myself. Lifeless. Tired. Spent. But unlike the log, I would get up and live again. All I needed was a drink. Something strong.
drifting isn’t the same as floating; there is a distinct difference between the two. Drifting you have no control over, you go where the current takes you. Floating, however, requires more control, thought and concentration.
As I was drifting into the distance all I could think about was why did I do it? Why did I jump. It was a silly thing to do I guess. And now everything is drifting. Drifting far far away. Like snowflakes on a cold snowy day.
When I think about drifting I think about my mind wandering and about daydreaming. When I daydream I think about things that have been on my mind or I think up ideas I want to happen in the future. My mind is not in the actual things that surround me but it is my own time for me.
An hour had passed with nothing. Waste of my goddamn money, I thought. And the party was as imagined, drab with bad music. Lucky if there was one celebrity there. Suddenly, a Eurythmics song I hadn’t heard in two decades came on, and I began to see the most vivid images in yellow…
I am a steel drum
Drifting through melodies
On sands of music
Tunes churning through chord tides
I am riveted by birds
Sun kissed by water
My metal vibrates
And echoes through the islands
I am the tropics
I am glorious.
My toy boat was drifting on the waves of Stinson Beach. I had placed it there because the little sailor who steered the toy boat wanted an adventure at sea. I hoped he would not be thirsty or hungry, but the sailor told me he never needed water or food. I wanted to see him tip his hat or salute to me as he disappeared into the foam, but he was just a speck in my vision now and I couldn’t see him from where I stood on the sand.
The wood drifted away. Away from the beach, away from the memories. Away from the little boy with the sand bucket and shovel. Maybe someday he’ll be back, but that day is far, far in the future.
Nothing new about the scene, me there, chin in palm, book open. Her there, in my thoughts, apple red pumps, a black skirt with a slit far up enough to see the part of her thigh in which I’m sure only a few had made camp.
I’ve felt as though I’ve been drifting for a while. Drifting through life, friends, parties, gossip, rumours…..drifting through the idle gossip that runs our young lives before we realize the bigger picture and what is really more important.
I feel like we’re drifting apart. When was the last time you and I sat down and talked. I mean, really talked. It seems as if I can’t even carry on a full on conversation with you. Because I’m afraid of screwing up, saying the wrong thing. It’s not healthy. It’s not fair.
Like a piece of driftwood amidst a sea of uniformity, I find myself isolated and alone with the hopes of being found – perhaps there is some kind captain to rescue this weary drifting soul.
How I’ve been. I feel like I’ve been drifting. I was out of it. I felt lost for a while. Trying to keep above water. Now I’m back and still trying to stay afloat. Too much to do. Stressed. Knowing I have it in me to get it done. Wondering when I’ll do it all. And then what…?
Emotions rising and falling… security up and “Ooooh! Look at the view!!!” and then down again in a sea of uncertainty. Waves of emotion, of nausea, of fear, of joy… Of doubt. Self doubt. Doubt in others. In my abilities. In the Universe…
Too much influenced by things not in my control at the moment. I don’t like that :o/
I’m drifting… And I don’t know that I even want to look for “land” right now. Maybe living in a “drifting” state could be better in the end… if I could get past the motion sickness.
I’m just drifting along. Waiting for a current to bring me to where I want to be. Waiting for the wind to catch my sails, waiting for the wind in my heart to blow and move me onward. Away from the bladderwrack I’ve become tangled in, the taste of saltwater, the rogue waves that almost topple my raft, the thought of shipwreck on the rocks. Not moving, but drifting. Starboard side first.
With 200 mph on my clock I wasn’t sure If I could do anything if something go wrong. I would probably crash and die not even feeling nor realising what happened, but still.
Drifting on the edge of mountain cliff is hell of a fun.
Weightless, thoughtless. I’m getting so far away from you your features are turning blurry. I don’t remember the smell of your skin, the exact shade of your eyes. Soon I’ll have forgotten all about you.
I’m in a boat. Drifting, drifting. My mind wanders. What a perfect day. And then he touches me. What a thrilling feeling! What a perfect day! Imagine – prim little me having sex on a boat, right in the outdoors. Joni would be proud!
drifting from one mind set to another I just can’t seem to find a point to settle at. Like the drifting clouds, the emotions drift too. and so do the perceptions along with it. I wonder if this drifting spirit is going to make or break things for me.
Once I was drifting on lake in a rowboat trying to catch bass. The oar locks were rusty and loose and frightened the fish when we rowed. I wanted nothing more than to catch something. Strange to think that, technically, the worm, pierced by the hook, was also drifting in a rowboat. What if a worm could write oneword.com?
Drifting in and out my dream, I had several conversations with various people I thought I knew, yet I didn’t once I woke up. It was fun for a little while, but soon got depressing so I woke up.
Drifting in the wind. Drifting down the river. It looks like drift wood. The wind carries it down the fast current. It has no direction; just drifting mindlessly here and there. Going with the flow.
A place you need to be, right now, meandering in and out of the limbo that is half-sleep. Autumn light streams through translucent, almost sheer cloth, a remnant blue of summer. There are creatures in the dark, hiding behind your lids, but you need to give yourself over to them before the word of yesterday overtakes you.
You found me drifting. I thought you would be worth nothing like all the rest, but instead you took me with you. And we both drift now. And forever, together.
water. i think of water. like peacefulness, in the ocean. yeah. i don’t know. either that or pain. loss. like loss of friendship, that happens a lot.
When I looked over, I noticed you were drifting away.
Where are you going? Are you going to stay?
Tell me now, what I need to prevent you from drifting away.
And there I was, drifting out into the ocean on a shitty little raft that I put together with some logs and vine material. I’d never been more absolutely terrified in my entire life. What was I supposed to do now? I have 13 people out to kill me, I’m afraid of open water and I can’t swim. How am I supposed to kill everyone else if I’m too afraid of drowning out here if I step off this raft? Maybe I’m just saving everyone else the trouble of killing me by doing this. I didn’t even bring food with me and I’m almost surely going to starve to death before I drift off to either shore.
Drifting… like that lone piece of wood amongst the waves of the sea. Where it came from, no one really knows. It never makes it to shore. And yet it’s never free.
The sun was beaming down onto the grey footpath, throngs of people either side rushing to get home to bask in the bright light of the UV rays. I was the one taking my time, slowing drifting through the crowds, absorbing the frenzied looks on their faces. The same kind of emotion that they portray when the rain is pounding down upon their heads. Maybe the weather is irrelevant, maybe they just frenzy in the evening in a desperate attempt to run from the jobs they wish they never got.
there a gust, to my left
driven and darting
dashing me against the curb
until the hubcap grids and sparks
torn against the concrete
flinting and switchblading against
the grit, until finally twists against itself
the tire bursting, sending everything
against the verge
to wrap around the lampost
my forehead as soft as my liver
split against the light
Drifting apart is sadly not an option for us, because our skin has grown together like the skin of siamese twins. We transcend into each other, no one will ever grasp where I stop and you begin. We are two portraits sharing a single canvas, we are a single tree wearing two crowns. To call myself the sun and you the moon would be inaccurate – because we are made of the same mass, we contain the same roaring fire. The same power. The same weakness. The same urge to cut free of the umbilical cord that keeps us wired together. Yet we can not.
When I think about drifting I think about my mind and how it wanders or how I daydream. I think about my mind drifting away into thoughts about past events or events I look forward to in the future. Sometimes they’re thoughts that I wish would happen but there is no promise of them happening.
My eyes droop and are shocked open by loud vibrating tires. Attention wavers for a minute and I’m all over the sleepy lane.
John turned fitfully in his sleep, drifting from nightmare to wakefulness to bizzare dreams to NREM and back. He was vaguely, unconciously aware that he was not alone, that a gentle weight rested around his waist which lifted to allow freedom of movement each time he stirred. It always wrapped back around him, though, and gripped a little tighter when John’s limbs struck out in fear. Finally, the nightmares faded and didn’t return. John settled in comfortably, nestling in against the warm body with a thankful squeeze around the waist. It was thinner than his arm was accustomed to holding at night, but thay thought didn’t register as important until he became more conscious.
As he woke, the sunbeam graciously blocked by an angular shoulder, John was momentarily disoriented. His mind had formed a connection between sleeping with company and awakening in a strange room, so the sight of his own familiar surroundings threw him through a loop. As did the chest pressed against his own, soft enough but not laden with extra padding. John’s gaze followed the sternum up to a multitude of chins, as Sherlock peered down at him with a bemused expression.
“Your alarm didn’t go off, so I let you sleep,” he murmured gently, leaning in to press his nose and lips into John’s hair.
John suddenly remembered the events of the previous day and gave a nervous chuckle. “Yeah, er… My alarm won’t be going off anymore for a while.”
Beneath the brightly light stars that hung over head, I lied on top of the cool midnight grass. Slowly, my soul and spirit began to leave my body. I awaited the paradise I would soon see and I slowly drifted away from the only life I’ve ever known.
The dead log moved up and down, drifting on the rolling water. It reminded me of myself. Lifeless. Tired. Spent. But unlike the log, I would get up and live again. All I needed was a drink. Something strong.
drifting isn’t the same as floating; there is a distinct difference between the two. Drifting you have no control over, you go where the current takes you. Floating, however, requires more control, thought and concentration.
As I was drifting into the distance all I could think about was why did I do it? Why did I jump. It was a silly thing to do I guess. And now everything is drifting. Drifting far far away. Like snowflakes on a cold snowy day.
When I think about drifting I think about my mind wandering and about daydreaming. When I daydream I think about things that have been on my mind or I think up ideas I want to happen in the future. My mind is not in the actual things that surround me but it is my own time for me.
the leaves were drifting down the ally like homeless people, wondering with no place to go but no reason to stay.
An hour had passed with nothing. Waste of my goddamn money, I thought. And the party was as imagined, drab with bad music. Lucky if there was one celebrity there. Suddenly, a Eurythmics song I hadn’t heard in two decades came on, and I began to see the most vivid images in yellow…
I am a steel drum
Drifting through melodies
On sands of music
Tunes churning through chord tides
I am riveted by birds
Sun kissed by water
My metal vibrates
And echoes through the islands
I am the tropics
I am glorious.
My toy boat was drifting on the waves of Stinson Beach. I had placed it there because the little sailor who steered the toy boat wanted an adventure at sea. I hoped he would not be thirsty or hungry, but the sailor told me he never needed water or food. I wanted to see him tip his hat or salute to me as he disappeared into the foam, but he was just a speck in my vision now and I couldn’t see him from where I stood on the sand.
Drifting off into the unknown. I was home for so long, now I’m drifting off into the new unknown: my future.
The wood drifted away. Away from the beach, away from the memories. Away from the little boy with the sand bucket and shovel. Maybe someday he’ll be back, but that day is far, far in the future.
Nothing new about the scene, me there, chin in palm, book open. Her there, in my thoughts, apple red pumps, a black skirt with a slit far up enough to see the part of her thigh in which I’m sure only a few had made camp.
I’ve felt as though I’ve been drifting for a while. Drifting through life, friends, parties, gossip, rumours…..drifting through the idle gossip that runs our young lives before we realize the bigger picture and what is really more important.
I feel like we’re drifting apart. When was the last time you and I sat down and talked. I mean, really talked. It seems as if I can’t even carry on a full on conversation with you. Because I’m afraid of screwing up, saying the wrong thing. It’s not healthy. It’s not fair.
Drifting can mean wandering aimlessly. We were drifting from town to town.
Like a piece of driftwood amidst a sea of uniformity, I find myself isolated and alone with the hopes of being found – perhaps there is some kind captain to rescue this weary drifting soul.
Drifting
How I’ve been. I feel like I’ve been drifting. I was out of it. I felt lost for a while. Trying to keep above water. Now I’m back and still trying to stay afloat. Too much to do. Stressed. Knowing I have it in me to get it done. Wondering when I’ll do it all. And then what…?
Emotions rising and falling… security up and “Ooooh! Look at the view!!!” and then down again in a sea of uncertainty. Waves of emotion, of nausea, of fear, of joy… Of doubt. Self doubt. Doubt in others. In my abilities. In the Universe…
Too much influenced by things not in my control at the moment. I don’t like that :o/
I’m drifting… And I don’t know that I even want to look for “land” right now. Maybe living in a “drifting” state could be better in the end… if I could get past the motion sickness.
I’m just drifting along. Waiting for a current to bring me to where I want to be. Waiting for the wind to catch my sails, waiting for the wind in my heart to blow and move me onward. Away from the bladderwrack I’ve become tangled in, the taste of saltwater, the rogue waves that almost topple my raft, the thought of shipwreck on the rocks. Not moving, but drifting. Starboard side first.
i drift through waters. it is fun and like driftwood/
With 200 mph on my clock I wasn’t sure If I could do anything if something go wrong. I would probably crash and die not even feeling nor realising what happened, but still.
Drifting on the edge of mountain cliff is hell of a fun.
Iwas drifting away and it was so fun
Weightless, thoughtless. I’m getting so far away from you your features are turning blurry. I don’t remember the smell of your skin, the exact shade of your eyes. Soon I’ll have forgotten all about you.
I’m in a boat. Drifting, drifting. My mind wanders. What a perfect day. And then he touches me. What a thrilling feeling! What a perfect day! Imagine – prim little me having sex on a boat, right in the outdoors. Joni would be proud!
drifting from one mind set to another I just can’t seem to find a point to settle at. Like the drifting clouds, the emotions drift too. and so do the perceptions along with it. I wonder if this drifting spirit is going to make or break things for me.
Once I was drifting on lake in a rowboat trying to catch bass. The oar locks were rusty and loose and frightened the fish when we rowed. I wanted nothing more than to catch something. Strange to think that, technically, the worm, pierced by the hook, was also drifting in a rowboat. What if a worm could write oneword.com?
I am drifting off to sleep.
My boat is drifting away.
I am drifting in and out of control of my mind.
Drifting away, far far away.
Drifting in and out my dream, I had several conversations with various people I thought I knew, yet I didn’t once I woke up. It was fun for a little while, but soon got depressing so I woke up.