It still feels like 2016. It still feels like the most important year of my life. It still feels like the end of my childhood. I still want to talk to him. It’s driving me mad it is it is it is. I still want to talk to him and I’m wondering why I am sitting here not talking to him and talking to this person and to that person and enjoying my life but still but still still weeks and months and security lost later still wanting to talk to him. Still thinking about him constantly. Consistently? Repeatedly. Reminded. Still wishing him well in my head in my head always in my head and waiting waiting waiting for him to tell me for him to reach out to me and tell me he’s doing well and tell me he felt my well wishes and tell me he held that feeling in a place in his heart until it warmed him until it cleared away cobwebs until it helped him realize he could be doing well because someone wants too much so much so badly so desperately for him to be alright – more than alright: wonderfully – because he is wonderful and I am terrific and I am doing terrifically as I sit here sit here sit here and think always thinking always thinking about him and wondering what he’s doing and hoping it’s well – more than well: wonderfully. Because he is wonderful and I am terrific and I am happy now but still so sad. So sad but happy with myself. So satisfied but wanting more. So conflicted but existing peacefully in so many states. I don’t know what I want right now because I want nothing I want something I want someone but I’m not as caught up in my emotions as I used to be. I let them flutter let them fall watching them as they crash to the floor like a teardrop like the loudest scream like the silence that rings out as time stops having meaning. I do miss the feeling of being passionately in love with a person who exists like a concept – like more than just an individual with individual problems and insecurities and interests and dislikes – both external and internal and expanding – expanding and filling the chest I leaned my head on and felt so very much in love with so very much in love with a person like a concept like a too-good-to-be-true like a Form. The chest with the message printed on it – the reminder to live the best life possible – the reminder that this will all end and you will see it in slow motion as it ends before your eyes and just out of the reaches of your grip – a reminder of a dream a twenty-two year old had and was fighting every day to turn into a reality to turn a concept to a proof. The constant struggle of self-definition that is classified by experts as anxiety. The constant struggle of being too in a head too in a head too in a head where else does one go where else is there where else could I be? Explained external complaints becoming. I’ll hold them deeply and let them devour me. I’ll change the subject: I’ll make it all about me. He’ll hold them deeply and let them devour him. It’s all about me as I sit here and I think about what it’s like for it to be all about someone else for someone else who is making their own decisions based on all the information they are able to contain all that they can bear to bear witness to to carry to be burdened with. It is difficult to live with your eyes open. I’ve turned a blind one a few times a few times maybe too many but it’s all relative based on other outcomes of other choices that I will never be able to choose because time is linear and this is my path. I’ve turned blind eyes I’ve ignored what is obvious. It’s fear it’s all fear and I’m terrified and terrible and taking turns to shaded places where it’s too dark too dark far too dark to see. A blind eye in a dark room in the isolation of a mind a mind inside of a head that is too active too panicked too scared to believe that there is more outside. More than a concept in a head leaning on a dream written on a chest.
I don’t know where to start because I am not at the start I am somewhere in the middle or at least I am off to the side and I can’t quite put a self-representative pin in my place on the map. I don’t know if I am lost or directionless and I am not sure which questions to ask or of whom they should be asked. Talk to god for guidance, in sheep-like herds at mass, but lacking god (I’m told) I’m only left with science, but science is a soulless artless self-important different-kind-of mass, and I do doubt it will offer assistance toward the reconciliation of my placelessness with my supposed position in space-time – both of which feel uncertain.
You get two alternatives: you pick one side. There is left and there is right, but I am trying to move forward, or possibly jump to a different map: some alternative world order. Tradition is as tradition does as tradition is wont to do. Hello, how are you, good, fine, farewell, and adieu. First phrases in second third fourth languages get you quite close, because who really strays? How far could they go? The weather we’re having is fair and we’re all such fair weather acquaintances. Sharing little troubles, immersed and deeply drowning in our pseudostruggles: strangers in shared places exchanging quotes, remaining faceless.
Which questions would you ask of someone locking eyes with yours, if you thought they were really seeing you and trying to converse? Not hearing what they want to hear, and saying what they’re supposed to say, but present, and attention-paying, and thinking on their feet. Do you wonder do you wonder do you think they may have answers? Are you open are you willing to even ask the questions? We talk to god for guidance, under truth-seeking selfish guises, forgetting that our prayers are conversationally one-sided: there’s nothing there to learn.
But god is dead and science holds the answers: we’ll figure out the truth, we’ll design a better future, and beyond a reasonable doubt: we’ll forget how to be human. I see the choices I am given: I’ve learned my rights from wrongs. But tradition is as tradition does as tradition is wont to do. I’ll give it all up I’ll toss it away: gods and science for some areas of grey. I am willing and open, and the question I’m posing: what does everyman have to say?