The Weight of ME

Ah, so free
the barometer of wind and time,
coursing through me like an old friend.
I have been misplaced, those books and sages tell me differently,
the time is now, the journey here.
I am merely a piece of sand, a speck of electron dust whirling off trying to magnetize myself before this body sloughs off and dies.
All the weight of me is an idea.
It is just gravitational pull at a bunch of cells.
Ah, but the wait of me has been so much longer...so much stronger than that.
And it's here. And I am not dead. Never will be, really. Ahh, so free. So free to never be free of some sort of existence, in my ideology. I have always hovered near the wish to erase. Give me a glass of wine and I can taste it. I think therefore I should not drink.