How little has changed, somehow.
No matter the loses accumulated—
or imagined gains preceding—by my upcoming fortieth:
this remains preserved, in dreams as real as threads,
for a time woven into my clothes.
So much can change, but the invariable remains.
As will the limited cache of ephemera. ¿ What have I ever known,
except not a thing at all ?
[...]
I'm not so much afraid of letting go
As much as scared of giving up.
And all the distance that we spent apart will never have to mean a thing.
Cause every mile I travelled was to find the perfect stone to fit your ring.
[...]
Living in the moment's hard when everything I want is in the past.
[...]
But when I had you near me I just couldn't think of anything to say.
Now that I'm alone, I've got the perfect things to tell you every day.
[...]
I'm not so much ashamed of being alone
Just kind of feel I've had enough.
But time and time again, time reminds me you'll never be my own.
We'll never have a house to decorate, a place that we can call our home.
[...]
Despite the mass wasting that has defined me,
an immovable regret looms, colossus.
Who am I to mourn, still swinging the scythe?
I did feel sad and I wanted for you to find peace
ReplyDeleteIf this is legitimately who evidence implies, then I am at a loss. I spent yesterday drifting through errands and chores, wondering if I’d had a mental break and was imagining things. This misaligns with everything I’ve believed true for over a decade. Then again, I find myself once more captive to the sort of fanciful thinking I am hard-wired to indulge. This could also be as simple as, it is who it is, but the comment doesn’t mean anything besides what it says, directly. It could be someone else entirely. The cynic in me immediately wanted to escape to the safer conclusion that this was just somebody random being cruel. In either case:
DeleteFor a time, I didn’t think real peace was achievable for some. I spent a lot of time, effort, money, travel—a good amount of that time wasted fully in some cases—seeking out mine. Any jobs, money, friends, or relationships that ended weren’t enough for me to see reason or recognize I had been going about my search in all the wrong ways. The people I hurt or bridges I burned had taught me nothing somehow. I selfishly avoided blame until its debt collectors were on my doorstep. Only after being a breathe away from death and spending almost a month in a hospital bed with nothing to do other than swallow pills, get poked by several needles a day, eat bad food, and process & sort through things, only then did a whole lot change in my mind. But, somewhere more important, beyond that: a “soul,” to save explaining. Also, I survived when it felt like I was meant to die. How can I not feel like a newborn in some ways, yet still retaining the experience and knowledge of my past life. I am the most genuine version of myself now, but who knows what that even means beyond a kind of freeing. Was this John always buried beneath the surface or is this a different self in a new chapter? Even with not much left of the life I’d known, I feel vaguely happier in an indefinable way. And that feels like my estimation of peace.
If this is you, you know my email. I can’t reasonably imagine you would want to say anything more or communicate beyond that short, direct comment. But, yesterday there was a whole lot more that I couldn’t imagine before I woke up to discover a pending comment awaiting approval. I’d happily open a message in any format or inbox, but that’s always been the case. What else could my blog post even have said, beyond a fancy pants version of expressing just that? Again, some things are what they are, inexplicably enduring. Life remains surreal and without explanation sometimes.