Sometimes you can almost forget about a person. Then you get a reminder — a song or a name or a vague resemblance — and the good memories fill you up with light for a few sweet seconds before all the hurt comes rushing back, all the achy empty loss, and it takes every scrap of willpower you have not to go beg them to let you back in.
Beg for a second chance, beg for them to love you again, beg for everything to be back the way it was.
Sometimes you just have to wipe away your tears and resolve to bury everything deeper this time.
I’m so terrified for the death of eras, things, people. We can’t ever wish to be reborn while we’re already here; we’re here to be worn, to wear all of these stratified experiences, to remember, to forget, and to try to forget what we remember. I feel so scared, and alone, and wondering how I’ll ever be able to deal with all of this loss through time. There’s no foresight, no preparation. I guess my courage lies in positivity, in love.
The future has an ancient heart. Everything to come, composed of everything before. Our own timelines could stretch back past memory.
Maybe our hearts are bigger than we can ever know.
Maybe it’s one of their many designs: to be able to fly over hollows of emptyness, to cast the pain into them, and to ignite new life on the other side..
She’s laying down at a high altitude, on a bed by a window, awake, watching the light move outside. There’s the fresh cold smell of pine forest and lulls in rain, and she has a fold of a soft blanket lightly centered between her lips. She’s listening to a song that sounds like new love; synthesizing peace under currents of unknowing and anxiety. Thinking of the people up here; “they’re not out to get you, let them in.” And they come in, shift things around, fill it all up with glorious noise, then take off with heavy gifts. Now it’s all silent. She regrets giving. Maybe they were out to get her.
And so fall arrives now in similar cold, higher air, and she realizes that she has been looking into centerless voids not made for her.
She makes the turn to rip her attention away from the edge of the earth and rest it upon the soft lines of mountains in the distance. “They’re not out to get you.
Go get them.”