vortex We are collectors
Not of butterflies or beads
But collectors of experiences.
Created at home or far afield
Meticulously planned or quite spontaneous
We lap up each new life moment
Irresistably, with virgin satisfaction.
Our collection sits in portable grey spaces
On quiet days, we explore these and giggle,
Groaning and tingling in unison, closer than thieves.
Over time, we have become expert collectors
Though our hobby remains secret.
Friends just laugh or worry saying;

'How do you both get into these situations?'
sleepless Sometimes common sense tells me
That I should stop collecting
Hoarding the experiences
Never learning or completing.
Like a dog chasing its tail
"That's me", I muse to myself.
I try to berate myself.
Force myself into action.
Tell myself to DO and not to feel.
"You feel too much", some say,
"You think too much", say others.
But I am just collecting
Another life experience
On the road to who-knows-where?
One day I may stop myself
But that's when I'll wake up
To real life, real things
Tapping at my window pane.

The collector in me is
The best that I can do.
When I stop collecting
What will I talk
In a conversation
With all the rest of you?
birdmad does collecting dust count? 010930
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