Mix
It never ceases to amaze me how extreme contentment and sadness can mingle together. Strange bedfellows. But they do. Sometimes they almost seem like similar things when they move around inside me. And I will never understand it. Or be able to stop it. It's one of those things like how beauty can move a person to tears and you can't explain why but you can't stop it either.
And so it is. The most beautiful day in the neighborhood. Not a cloud in the sky. Bluish-green water that seems to change colors so quickly it might be part chameleon. Heat in the rays of sun, coolness in the foam of the water. Soft, squishy sand next to firm sand. Swarms of wonderful butterflies flitting magically from the ocean. A book, a blanket, and a boy. A boy I still love. Will always.
He is quiet. I feel loud and boorish next to him. I would have left earlier if he wasn't here. I lay around and wonder. I close my eyes and imagine. I'm content. I'm sad. The ghost is stuck inside me; no exorcist can remove it. I am possessed. I am free and shackled simultaneously. I have no other thoughts. This is the odd zen I have been trying to reach all week. And only because he is here to save me from myself. And he is completely unaware. Which is how I have to have it.
The sadness and contentment have to live far enough down that he doesn't connect it to himself. In the house I take a look at the things I've been avoiding for so long. But I can't look for too long because I know what lives there and I don't want to let it out. I don't want him to see. He has to leave the room for me to even take a glance.
I think to myself, if I had seen this back then, I would have understood. I would have seen the things I couldn't see back then because I didn't know any other way; any other time; any other he. But it is painfully obvious that it is there; that I was only a pit stop. That I was never adored. But I can see that it was possible; that it existed. Just not now, not for me, not ever. Like the greusome car accident, I can't look away. It draws me in. It burns into my memory. I stay far away so the details can remain fuzzy.
But the fuzziness still blurs contentment into sadness; into this burdensome feeling of being a stone around a neck. It sets in like a quiet panic; how to fix it, how to escape. Distance. Quiet. Disconnection. Departure.
And so it is. The most beautiful day in the neighborhood. Not a cloud in the sky. Bluish-green water that seems to change colors so quickly it might be part chameleon. Heat in the rays of sun, coolness in the foam of the water. Soft, squishy sand next to firm sand. Swarms of wonderful butterflies flitting magically from the ocean. A book, a blanket, and a boy. A boy I still love. Will always.
He is quiet. I feel loud and boorish next to him. I would have left earlier if he wasn't here. I lay around and wonder. I close my eyes and imagine. I'm content. I'm sad. The ghost is stuck inside me; no exorcist can remove it. I am possessed. I am free and shackled simultaneously. I have no other thoughts. This is the odd zen I have been trying to reach all week. And only because he is here to save me from myself. And he is completely unaware. Which is how I have to have it.
The sadness and contentment have to live far enough down that he doesn't connect it to himself. In the house I take a look at the things I've been avoiding for so long. But I can't look for too long because I know what lives there and I don't want to let it out. I don't want him to see. He has to leave the room for me to even take a glance.
I think to myself, if I had seen this back then, I would have understood. I would have seen the things I couldn't see back then because I didn't know any other way; any other time; any other he. But it is painfully obvious that it is there; that I was only a pit stop. That I was never adored. But I can see that it was possible; that it existed. Just not now, not for me, not ever. Like the greusome car accident, I can't look away. It draws me in. It burns into my memory. I stay far away so the details can remain fuzzy.
But the fuzziness still blurs contentment into sadness; into this burdensome feeling of being a stone around a neck. It sets in like a quiet panic; how to fix it, how to escape. Distance. Quiet. Disconnection. Departure.
posted by Ocean | 11:44 PM
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