2004-12-16

Shall we forever live in sorrow?

Yesterday has been the coldest day since Mid-November. Swirling scratching wind against my face, as I wrap my red scarf around my neck. Everything moves slowly--blurry, gray; the fabric of time--what constitutes "the moment" moves at the speed of a slow, pasty substance. I want to close my eyes and get everything done and over with--running around all day attempting to tie up the loose ends. Pending issues that need to be dealt with.

I'm walking towards building 11. In a moment, a fleeting image, the flicker of a memory passes me by. Winters of long ago, when I was safe...nights without worry or heavy sorrow. Pathos was something so distant, and I'd wrap up inside my quilt and read Tu-Fu or Li-Po until midnight. I've always admired Tu-Fu. For his courage. For his humility. For his civility and intellect. Most importantly, because he whispers to me whilst I sleep. Silently and gently, as I dream of swans in the silent, black waters...we're all painted by the water-color moon. He once said, "...The wild duck sleeps alone..." as the last line of a poem.

Those years are haunting--the years we yearn for. Fragile and distant and they come so quickly--golden, emphatically joyful--you cannot grasp them.

Shall we forever live in sorrow? What cruel and merciless architect constructed this life of ours? It can turn and twist--a chaotic womb--and make itself a nightmare. Silver lights and demons flying about--never leaving you alone. Urging you, saying things...it all becomes so complex (but it's really all quite simple) and in the end one goes mad.

And I only want to know why...the golden key that turns the lock. What is this heavy cloak of velvet and lead which has been draped over us? If only we'd escape.

Shall we forever live in sorrow?

When afternoons are so breathtakingly golden. Leaves turn color with the changing winds, and our hearts sigh with the yawning night skies. The simple things that come and declare, come and decree, come and give you a revelation.

Come to say--like the golden prince--there is nothing to fear. We walk upon clouds, always afraid of falling...but if and when we fall, what do we fall upon? Another cloud, of course!

We walk on clouds, you know...the dreams and possibilities. Human machines meant to fool the cruel architect (oh, do fool him!).

I walk into my house with the echo of my shoes upon the tine floors. The heat inside seems to amplify sound to me...my mom, I can hear her voice, speaking to someone on the phone.

She's been sick since Sunday night. She started shivering convulsively...and woke up with a high fever Saturday morning.

I pause. She's talking about me.

I know she's starving herself, and this has been going on for God knows how many years...she has no energy.

She pauses, before continuing--she lowers her voice.

I'm becoming afraid. I don't like the way she gets sick...it's terrifying.

I walk in and she looks surprised to see me--frowning, grave, heavy face--at the doorway to the den.

Libet, Al te llamo, quieres hablar con el?

She asks me, forcing a smile and handing the phone to me.

I can't believe you told him that!

I whisper--disturbed.

Sweetheart.... I begin, carefully.

I can hear him release a heavy sigh on the next line--that thing he always does. He's worried, I know. And when he's worried, he stumbles with his words (which is rare) and speaks in incomplete phrases.

Babe... he begins...I--look...stop it! Stop this!

Stop what? I ask.

You're starving yourself! he sounds harsh and scolding now. He softens up and sighs gently: Baby...beautiful...I love you. If you die, I will be destroyed; and your poor body can't take this anymore. Eat something.

Do you want me to get fat? I ask. You wouldn't want a fat girlfriend.... I tell him

I'd rather you be fat than dead. I don't need you to be underweight for me, I need you healthy...

This is the argument that never ends. My mother and my boyfriend believe I'm going to die.

It came to me last night--those years...and I saw Roger's face; and I became rigid with anger and hate. The fact that even now I can't be a good girlfriend. It's what I've become!

And I struggle everyday to rid myself of that person, and perhaps find the middle path between old and new. These things take time, I know...

I look into the mirror and into my own eyes and ask myself that one question:

If I have found the person whom I love so deeply, then why not make an effort to become a better person?

Damn it! Shall we forever live in sorrow, misery, and the thick blanket of lies? What I have--right now--that little world of wonders that belongs solely to me is vastly meaningful. It's who I am...whether it be him or my dreams, fears, and hopes. My nightly tears or morning smiles--whatever. Down the dusty road, these things may become lost along the way...but, for now, it's what's real.

Must I always justify myself? I've fallen in love! Whether or not it's a mistake (I don't care, I don't care, I don't care) it's what I can see when I close my eyes. His is the voice I hear. It's impossible to explain these things in great detail, such a simple formula...it really is.

aeka at 12:26 p.m.