That this body is too small for you? That this structure is too tight? Much of your motion is just fidgeting to get used to this restriction. That you want to peel off your clothes, peel off your skin, dismantle your bones, and step out. I think there's a line by Rilke that goes something like this: I want to leave myself behind and walk under the stars. If the stars rather be elsewhere, then the soft unfolding darkness will do. Do you feel like this life is too long, much too long. You can segment each task and spoon out eternity in manageable chunks but even after everything is crossed out the list, many days remain. They stretch out, far and endless, but like running paint on floor, they hedge you into a corner. Do you ever feel that you are big? Much too big and immense? Not in the glorious, magnificent kind of way. Just in the sort of way that you will always be a misfit everywhere because there isn't enough space. The universe is a lilliput land and all thd galaxies are dust under your fingernails. And every little day, every single thing shrinks and you bloat.