I want to live in a bubble,
surrounded yet free.
In that little space,
What I want,
Or maybe I am living in a bubble,
with a fragile soapy film to protect me,
where the wind appears too strong,
where living is a vulnerability.
But sometimes I strongly feel that every mortal on earth,
whether prosperous or in dearth,
are living in bubbles,
out of choice or necessity.
In bubbles of complacence,
in bubbles of dream,
in bubbles of isolation,
with windows as thick as cream.
But the bubbles keep shrinking,
as we loose ourselves,
and it is when so desperately we want to break free,
in the worst possible way we are trapped.
It's a little complicated,
but not that hard,
with bubbles there is no you,
they are who we are.