not ready

the world around me seems more than ready to give me opportunity after opportunity to pursue
like a house dog walking for the first time in Central Park, NYC. 
pulled in every direction, distracted by every person, object or scent around them.
the distractions try with all their might to make that leash, which is always too short, irrelevant. 


the distractions is my life.
the leash is my logical mind.
the over-sensitive nose of that dog is my wandering heart. 

i haven't been touched by another in weeks.
weeks. why does it feel like years?
i'm not ready to be touched again.
opportunities? give it a rest, please.