The Lighthouse

The distractions were distracting.

Quite distracting.

There were so many.

Pulling in so many ways,

every way except for the way I wanted to go.

Weed.

Women,

Alcohol.

Movies.

Video games.

T.V. shows.

Work.

Women,

Oh so many women.

Their legs,

My phone

Their cleavage,

Pandemics,

Their yoga pants

Instagram,

and

Their asses in those yoga pants,

All pulling me,

And repelling me,

In every way,

Except the way I wanted to go.

Time went by.

I tried to stay on the path.

The path I wanted to go down.

I wandered,

Knowing the direction,

knowing the destination I hoped to end up.

I had a sense of what I was supposed to be,

A sense similar to the light from a distant lighthouse,

Trying to guide me to shore.

The light came from some sense inside me,

An unexplainable place.

Maybe,

From the soul.

If we have souls.

but

the distractions were distracting,

Distorting the light

And I sailed astray.

I would leave the path,

Ignore the voice,

Drown it.

And I knew,

That I was drowning a part of

myself.

Everytime I distorted the light

Intentionally,

With the distracting distractions,

I was drowning the most important part of myself;

My soul.

The lighthouse.

I was sinking my own ship.

Maybe it was time to get off of tinder.