2005-07-03
Living Thoughts
It feels risky outside today; it�s risky yet calm and the rain pouring down reminds me of another place. I�ve seen this kind of rain before, in a dream, perchance, or in a drowned instance of long ago.
And it doesn�t feel like rain because it�s not beating against my window, and my ears can�t catch the thunderclaps outside: the water just falls down from heaven and slides over leaves and grass and the world is cleansed.
Today I don�t live inside myself, rather, I�m somewhere else in a distant watching all of this and maybe even analyzing it all�there are three parts of me and one must the one who is sobbing, but the middle, which is the one here on earth, just is. And I�m here watching the rain and the sky clear up progressively.
Last night I prayed and cried in the dark. A long time ago, I used to cry in the dark so that I wouldn�t see myself crying, and the heaving breaths and sobs I heard and muted lamentations simply weren�t mine�they were from a story and from a character about whom I had read. But they certainly weren�t mine. Though I still prayed in the dark, I acknowledged that the cool tears hitting the flesh on my trembling hands were mine, and that the whispered words to God were, indeed, mine.
I prayed for many things. The realization that things will become increasingly difficult in the next few months has dawned on me, and I feel the oppressing weight, but I am an adult now�and adults solve problems.
Yesterday I went to the gardens with my mother, and we spent the day outside and I climbed a tree, something which, I�ve not done in years. I opened the palm of my hand, widely, while the ducklings ate the pellets off it, and I was so involved in feeding the ducks that all of my worries were erased; or rather, they were muted.
After getting home, I refused to stay behind closed doors and think�the last thing I�d like to do right now is reflect and think. Action is so much more powerful�even if just walking, I wanted to do something and not sit idle and rotting away with my thoughts.
So I ventured out and went to the place where Pierce and I usually go, and under the sky, which was already torn through with bright aqua, I wrote in my journal�my private, written journal. I was sweating and it was humid, but these things didn�t matter to me. I only talk inside my head�I live in my thoughts, and they are as treacherous as they are wonderful.
I must have walked the entire city yesterday, with frustrations leaping out of me and grabbing my throat and jerking my heart. These are the frustrations of humiliation, and of realizing that after falling in love, one loses self-respect and becomes�selfless�and, self-righteous. The break up is not too horrible and I am taking it quite well, according to those who have spoken to me or have seen me in the last week.
But there is still something here, and there is deadness to me that I cannot explain, and I�ve lost a particular something that I can never regain, and the world may never fall in love with me again. I wrote, �we were young once, and belonged in a place like this�.
And I belonged in another place of curiosity and wonderment. I seek refuge in old things: music, books, places, moments, smells�that remind me of who I was. Usually, post-break ups are times when people scramble to get the person back or move on�but I�m self-evaluating. I recognize that my foundation is lost and that I am a complete stranger to myself. I find myself at times aiming to make out a faint glimmer or things that used to be, and I replay the same pieces over, and over�trying to remember myself, but meeting myself again and falling in love with myself again will take more than what any Haydn string quartet can give me.
My greatest fear methinks is falling into the trap of believing that life is idealistic or that I will live forever. Pierce believes he will live forever�but that is his opinion, and we differ in that aspect. My entire experience with Roger only makes me want to confront the possibility of pain. I was a coward back then, and I blamed everything else except myself, and I wallowed and fell into regret, and I can only remember myself during those black and white moments�and I hear myself, too. But I also analyze myself, and I was a child. And I have something to prove to myself�the desire to move ahead and regain my foundation is something I wish for dearly.
I was young once, and belonged in a place like this.