the stranger in my own narrative.
Where did this reality come from? How could so much change in a single year after so much changed in a moment?
There was a time and an instant when desperation and isolation and a yearning to not be alone brought an amalgamation of scatterd souls together for a brief period where we could share our joys and sorrows together.
The trigger was one of us. One lost and unanchored and without a concept of the next step forward.
And so like those most insanely beautiful maniacs do, we banded together. We rallied behind a flag of purpose to preserve that which had become beloved and sacred to us. We embodied 'E Plurbus Unum:' Out of many, one. We created a strange summer camp for the genders: the boys camp, rough, savages, riddled with too many people in a small cabin but inundated with fraternity and video games as the common demonstrator; the women formed a sisterhood... one that seemed unshakable as we all struggled together. Tabula Rasa coming, terra incognito for all of us. It was going to be the best year of our lives.
...
...
...I sit here now, a year later, in my own place again, returned to the comforting isolation. I can breathe, I can exist without feeling the obligations of relying upon others and being reliant to others. And yet there is that deafening silence where my adoptive sisters would emerge from their room for a food run or a just to make sure I was okay. The times with their chinchilla were beyond measure.
....
...
Those early days were something out of a daydream or a sitcom. We were a cohesive unit, a diasporic family merged through the bonds of fidelity, the needs of necessity, and the addiction of broken fragments coming together to form something imperfectly perfect.
The laughs, the tears, the late night conversations overlooking the slumbering streets of Allston. The random moments where somehow we all ended up together. Those were things you could not plan. They were just natural chemistry.
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...
I spent most of tonight after working staring out my new living room window. The old cotton mill smoke stack stands like a resilient sentinel, defiant to its current insignificance yet beautiful in its imperfection. I watch a couple watch their pup as she sniffs around the courtyard.
...
...
Somehow it never worked the way we thought it would.
Time is a bastard,
and life is an asshole.
Combined, it was an inevitability that it wouldn't be perfect. But you'd think after a year and a half of running through the crucible together that there would be lasting meaning.
And yet here we stand.
...
...
I walk the confines of my house, the songs that remind me of so many parts of the past permeating through my head and I cannot comprehend what I can even feel anymore.
After so long in an insulated chamber I was alive again. Those atrophied parts of my already broken heart were resuscitated into life once more. I was saved from myself by this party of absurdity.
I even let myself get vulnerable.
It ended as it always has, but this was a chance that reminded me of the reason you take them.
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I'm sitting at my keyboard for the first time in a very long time. To be honest, I don't know if I know how to to this writing bit anymore because it's been so long. And yet like the sailor to the sea, I am am drawn back whether I think its the right thing to do or not. My fingers can't remember how to work perfectly in time with my mind. I am trying to find this part of me again, after a very long hiatus.
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There are so many talks we had on the porch, discussing life and the meaning of it all. And now those conversations are just left mute: insignificant musings that were only used to indulge in selfishness.
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For the first time in a a long time I'm just listening to Bob Dylan. Live At Royal Albert Hall. The haunting notes of a wailing harmonica bring me both a comfort and an inherent terror: I've felt this loss before.
When she told me she was leaving and I sat beside the Hudson.
When I was told I was too much to handle.
When I thought I was ready.
...
...
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I still remain at a loss to the changes of time when it results in the changes of a heart.
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...
We do our best to both show we are fine, and yet also cry for help.
Listen to your loved. See the kaleidoscope visions.
Make it all clear.
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