loose threads

circa 2007

My eye has been twitching off and on for the past three or four days, a sure sign that something’s not right in my world. The snow and ice and rain and cold move me backward through time even though the here and now negates anything and everything I felt then. I often find myself staring directly into the truth and wondering when it changed, why it changed, and how I can chip away these few remaining pieces of memory and longing. It is all laced with David Gray, a hint of Damien Rice, lost in the heart-wrenching simplicity of Iron & Wine. I have closed the door on feeling because I feel that I must or else face the smallness of my life, of my experiences, of everything that makes me who I am.

Today my sweater smells like perfume I don’t wear anymore and when I lift the fabric to my nose, there is nothing but the present. I want to laugh because there is the past again, fooling me with a sense memory I am in the process of deleting. Erase all y/n? Y. My life as DOS prompt.

I seek a cathartic release. I think maybe I need to sit in my life alone for a while and listen to her sing look on down from the bridge, it’s still raining up here. Maybe then the dam will burst. Maybe then it will soften and melt and dissolve and I will be clean and free. My time and effort can then be devoted to less honorable pursuits. I can chase him down again, pin his character to the wall, throw aimless darts to show him himself. Open him up, give him a mirror, watch him squirm uncomfortably.

I can’t break on through to the other side. Perpetual. Always here. Never myself. How can I achieve? If I leave, they won’t understand. I should be there, on the edge of the madness and hysteria, all of the power of the planet churning mere inches from my feet. Why oh why won’t it ever be like that, with the distance and the solitude and the me living out there like a phantom. Did you see that? I thought I saw someone but I could be wrong.