Some people think in circles and others in squares.
There’s a swaying receptivity to the circle thinkers. There’s a flow, a dance, a sky full of pink, muted dust, because opportunity is abound. Nothing begins, and nothing ends.
There’s a piercing harshness to the square thinkers. There’s a knowing, there’s an authenticity, a “I know what’s around the corner” kind of mind, because their mind is nothing but corners.
Circles are speckled and gentle, curious, and benevolent.
Squares are tarry and black, rugged, and maleficent.
I’m a square. My soul sits hunched and weary. It knows things I don’t. I feel as though the corners jab into me every time I feel vulnerable, as if to remind myself not to walk into uncharted territory. It’s a sobering existence.
I hope in my lifetime I find a circle that can soften my angles; a circle to show me that life can be forgiving; a circle to buff my edges and coo at my callousness.
But for now, I’m a square.