Given whatever turmoil has afflicted me these past few weeks, I have found myself compelled to explore the past. Occasionally, looking back I’ll discover something I can’t grasp, something I can’t remember writing. These are my words, no doubt. These are fragments of my memories, but anything more than a vague recollection is lost to me. Is the person I address someone real or imagined? I find it interesting to read this sort of thing, the writing that had occurred once I’d disconnected from any real sense or specificity. The last time this document was edited was August 2016, but it could predate that by years. Had I posted this nearer the time I’d edit it for poetic clarity, but now, as a document of the past, I present the raw truth of some historic suffering.
I’m still waiting for the sign that all of this will be ok.
Let’s just wait here.
Just a moment longer.
It wouldn’t take me so long if you hadn’t already stopped me.
Why did you let me go?
I catch myself falling, backwards, through the upturned hallways of my house.
Gravel beneath my bare feet, digging in to the soft flesh of my soles.
I’m staring at your picture.
I could never ask for more.
We were strangers.
A dream of blades convulses through me. Red on white.
I’d give just about anything for this little lie between us. Don’t make me turn away, just hold me, allow me to fall and fabricate.
Give me hint of a past. Haven’t we shared something?
Haunting me, the prospect unbearable. Lost amongst the crowds, cooking in the heat. My skin begins to burn, smothered in oil, a paste of sand and grit, it blisters, cracks. Lost. Screaming, so many voices, so many bodies, so much horror and redundancy. A migratory animal, flocking to the sea. Instinct. No sense of purpose.
But make it purposeful, decide. Choose a destination. Kill yourself.
Fifteen years and still. I hear my name.
What was the plan?
How could I keep this up? Maybe you knew better, I should have just taken your lead and walked away. It’s just the weight.