gasping

Like a fish flipping and gaping, having slipped maniacally from an infant grasp on to the grainy earth of a river bank, I feel time slipping through my fingers as air slips through the desperate creatures gills. No matter how hard it sucks at the flimsy air it cannot glean oxygen to breathe. No matter how hard I try I cannot find time to fulfil myself. Weeks slip through my gaping mouth and nothing comes of it. We speed towards our final weeks in China and beyong them I can see nothing. I can't see how I could do this anywhere else, yet what I do achieve here is so infinitesimal. I'm still thrashing around. I am not dead yet.