And here I thought I had put it mostly behind me. Well, maybe that is actually still true. Softness comes unbidden to me. I'm a sleeper about to awaken from a melancholy reverie. This aging heart of mine feels like it has experienced far more than 37 years, and sometimes it wants to just give out. Pause for a short while. Rest in comforting nonexistence. Oh, if only it were that easy. Once upon a time, numbness would have been preferable to sensation, but no longer. Numbness isn't any proper way to be. Not anymore. Tears don't come unbidden anymore, but the other night, they threatened to. It's actually a little nice in the same way that touching a raw bruise is nice. You know how when you bang your knee on something, and the next day you have a purplish-green welt? Poking at it brings pain, but rubbing gently around it brings both pain and pleasure. This feeling is like that, and if you ask me, rubbing it helps it heal faster.
It was nice pretending for a short while that the only thing separating us is physical distance, but it's just a fantasy. I know it has been a fantasy. If I were a harder person, I would have cut my losses and moved on. If I were a stronger person, I would have already accepted the status quo and moved on. If I were a wiser person, this reality would not have come to pass. Anyway, this is all ancient history. Is it any wonder I want to remain close to the one who has inspired me? I'm not harder, and sometimes I think I'm barely stronger, but perhaps I'm wiser. I hope I'm a better person than I was. It's that opening scene from "Saving Private Ryan." Was it worth it? Did I make you proud? (I'm paraphrasing) Have I lived a good enough life?
It's almost time to return to reality. Actually, reality intrudes, slapping me in the face with the tail of a wet fish. The fantasy is almost ended. Several things have changed, I think, but it may be that what matters most has not. I don't know. I'm a little distracted and blinded again. It was nice to have full vision back for a short while. Oh well. It'll come back again. It always does. I've adopted a few new symbols. I don't know whether or not I'll keep them moving forward. They served their purpose, and now they almost feel like silly trinkets, but I feel fragile and brittle again too, so maybe their loss of value is merely a reflection of my loss of solidity. I still think I've been slowly losing my sanity all along, and someday I shall still go completely insane. May that happen on some distant continent.
Once this reverie ends, I shall have to choose between finally truly moving on, or, well.... There is no real alternative to consider. The reverie must end. What can you do with a dream? Can you touch it? hug it? talk to it? hold it? No, no, no, and no. To step into any real future, I have to give up the fantasy. And yes, I want to give it up. I've had too much of ethereal spirits and daydreams in my life. No more for me, please.
Let me shed another tear though. I guess I'm still in mourning. I just didn't realize it until now. Grieving is always cathartic. And then, one reluctant step forward, and then another not so reluctant step (hopefully). Perhaps eventually to infinity, and beyond?
My mood: --> :-<
Mkay, bye.
It was nice pretending for a short while that the only thing separating us is physical distance, but it's just a fantasy. I know it has been a fantasy. If I were a harder person, I would have cut my losses and moved on. If I were a stronger person, I would have already accepted the status quo and moved on. If I were a wiser person, this reality would not have come to pass. Anyway, this is all ancient history. Is it any wonder I want to remain close to the one who has inspired me? I'm not harder, and sometimes I think I'm barely stronger, but perhaps I'm wiser. I hope I'm a better person than I was. It's that opening scene from "Saving Private Ryan." Was it worth it? Did I make you proud? (I'm paraphrasing) Have I lived a good enough life?
It's almost time to return to reality. Actually, reality intrudes, slapping me in the face with the tail of a wet fish. The fantasy is almost ended. Several things have changed, I think, but it may be that what matters most has not. I don't know. I'm a little distracted and blinded again. It was nice to have full vision back for a short while. Oh well. It'll come back again. It always does. I've adopted a few new symbols. I don't know whether or not I'll keep them moving forward. They served their purpose, and now they almost feel like silly trinkets, but I feel fragile and brittle again too, so maybe their loss of value is merely a reflection of my loss of solidity. I still think I've been slowly losing my sanity all along, and someday I shall still go completely insane. May that happen on some distant continent.
Once this reverie ends, I shall have to choose between finally truly moving on, or, well.... There is no real alternative to consider. The reverie must end. What can you do with a dream? Can you touch it? hug it? talk to it? hold it? No, no, no, and no. To step into any real future, I have to give up the fantasy. And yes, I want to give it up. I've had too much of ethereal spirits and daydreams in my life. No more for me, please.
Let me shed another tear though. I guess I'm still in mourning. I just didn't realize it until now. Grieving is always cathartic. And then, one reluctant step forward, and then another not so reluctant step (hopefully). Perhaps eventually to infinity, and beyond?
My mood: --> :-<
Mkay, bye.