Getting my bearings

I am working on my honesty pants, honestly I am. They've been washed, but they're still all crinkly and wet and needing shaking out and some good drying time on the line, in the sun. In the meantime I remain talking in metaphor. So it's honest, but not yet blatant.

I've finally realised what it is (it came in a blinding flash of insomnia-induced possibly-far-too-deep thinking)... It's the mirage. He's so busy running toward that pretty, shimmery mirage, that he doesn't see anything else, and I keep getting knocked over, even after asking not to be.

It is time for some balancing of the scales, I need to get over to the other side, my bruises are beginning to show from being knocked too many times. I need to get over there, to my village, my safe spot. Where I am sure of myself and can get my bearings. Sometimes I care too much you see and it makes me feel that other's are careless with me. I need to breathe and work out if they really are, or it's just me. I think it might be both.

Then I'll be able to not be knocked over, but to wave and smile at him (and give him juice), hurtling by toward that mirage, and can only hope he realises that it's exactly that - a mirage - and that he finds what he's looking for on the other side of it, and doesn't miss (or lose) too much on his way there.