flying so you won't land

I feel guilty when I don't read. Like something in me is completely off when a book is not in my hands. That's who I am. Reading is what I do. And yet every book I seem to pick up lately doesn't grab my attention. They're all interesting, of course, I just can't seem to read them. It's quite frustrating. I am also wanting to go somewhere, far. Where no one knows me. Just for a week or a little more. I see all the pictures of people going to Europe. Oh how I wish I was going somewhere fabulous! I miss big trips. Traveling is still my middle name, but I don't go to the places I used to. Canada one year, Hawaii the next. I know I must sound like a brat, but that is not at all what I mean. My soul is restless, and when I stay in one place too long I go a bit mad. This worries me a tad, because I hope this does not mean I will always feel unsettled. It is more that I am terribly afraid to get settled and comfortable. It's only when one is comfortable that boat seems to be rocked. If one is always moving, there is nothing to rock. However, the downside is feeling constantly in motion, I suppose. Perhaps soon, yes quite soon, I will feel settled. We will see. Until then.

Have you ever thought of diving in a wishing well?
Or tumbling down a hill?
Jumping into a lake,
Full of tiny fish.
Leaping over flowers,
That stand tall in your way.
Laughing at the sound
Of birds chirping at noon.
I often sit in silence.
And wonder to myself.
What's in that wishing well?
If I were to dive,
Could I see the wishes
Or would they fall?
What if I captured your wish?
And set it free.
Then it came true.
What would you do?
Would you then come with me?
In search of my own.
Or would you stay
And waste the rest of days?
What makes up a wish?
How does it survive?
Against the stormy seas,
Of whistling wells
And charming bells.
I make no sense
I am aware
All I ask
Is will you fall?
If I dive in.
Would you come too?
Or would you stand,
Waiting on the land?