The Fall
[ sycobuny on Tue Apr 29 at 09:42 PM // category: life ]
I wrote this last Autumn, and just came across it again the other day. Had it posted as a random filename on xzion.net, but decided I’d go ahead and post it here. It may really suck, but I think it’s kind of neat.
The smell of fall is in my nostrils again. An agitating feeling of nostalgia creeps over me. If there’s one phobia I have, it is of my memories. They are things that make you wish for the better times that you had to ruin by growing up and changing. The whole world changes and I accept it, but it doesn’t mean I have to like it. One of these days I’ll figure that all out, but it’s not today. Today, the summer is dying.
I wish I could grasp it by the ethereal threads tethering it to the Earth, to my own little corner of it. Then I could pull it in, keeping it with me, keeping me warm. But instead, I hold nothing. My hands, opening closing on air, are distinctly human in their function and limitation. I can feel it there, or at least I think I can. The pulsating yet abstract notion of a time quickly passing by: it’s there in my hand but obviously it can’t be. God, I wish these feelings would just go away.
But they don’t. They never do.
All the time, I feel out-of-place. A stranger in my own land. And it’s worse than that. I feel I am a stranger in my own mind. Every thought I have is foreign, every sensation coming from somewhere else. It’s as though I am nothing but an observer on my own life. Maybe I am. Maybe we all are, and it’s just so easy to ignore the feeling that we blissfully walk along in our lives, content that we’re all actually here.
But we’re not. We never are.
We’re just as untouchable and unknowable as the fleeting summer days. I could reach out and touch you, and god I wish I could. But it’s nothing. All I can do is recoil at those contacts; retract, hermitlike, into a state of fear. It’s fear of the unknowable. I can never know you, and it breaks my heart. I simply want to share those little moments of raw emotion with someone else. But we’re all liars. All our thoughts come from somewhere else, and we just hide them away before anyone else can see. I don’t blame you; it’s a defense mechanism. Yet still, it breaks my heart.
I don’t see how I’m supposed to progress. The summer days are gone and the only thing left now is the cold embrace of memory in the swiftly approaching fall.
-- sycobuny // 2008.04.29 @ 09:42 PM
