People they come together
People they fall apart
- Moby, We Are All Made of Stars
I miss her. I know it doesn't matter. Maybe it does matter. Maybe everything does. Or nothing does. Just tired, and buzzed. No weight or shadow to that either. Like all of the white, out there: it will melt away and be gone, to memory only.
There will be flowers here, eventually.
Continue reading Eventual Flowers.
Great walls of white, frosted trees, deserted streets. In the night, all is still. My body is sore. Everything is quiet. I'm having a beer in the dining room, wishing I had someone to talk to.
I don't want to think. I don't want to see. Sleep's deepest black is the sweetest part. Shock: a white river, that swirls, blasts and tumbles. Dashed up upon these shores; awake for now. I don't want to understand this. To have my injuries unveiled. These truths rewrite a past that I hold to like a drowning man. Time is no help: an hour, a month, the broken back of a year. The torrent tosses yesterday, fresh, onto now. Better to look away. I am so weary. Feel it tug at my ankles, pulling me back. Rough mercy. Close my eyes -- and hope for fairer shores.
"But who can I turn to, if you turn away?"
- Who Can I Turn To (Nobody Needs Me), Tony Bennett
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I miss you, every day.
Things were different. I guess they will be different again. In the moment, though, time seems askew. These empty hours stretch and fade...then rise again. Nothing to do but keep walking through this now.
I'm still shocked by how much is gone. The deep fullness of this shining Sunday is lush, beautiful. Outside me. My empty places are like blank spots in the landscape. Don't know if they will ever be filled back in.
It's a long walk, from now to tomorrow.
