People don't cry enough
So close, yet so far away. So old, yet not grown. So tired, yet not asleep. So broken, yet undeniable alive.
Its the contradiction of existence. The bits and pieces in the fabric of us that strive for dominion. The bits and pieces of us that make up the lies of our truth. The wool over our eyes, the shadows in the sunlight, the possibility in stark contrast to the reality. We all want to escape.
Yet again, the numbers trail on, spiraling into the universe, infinity. What a brilliant concept. To imagine the unimaginable, such is the genius of man.
I have grown older. I know this not by the boy who calls me Uncle at the lift. Age is just a number, my daddy told me long ago. Slowly i begin to realise. Our oldness or youngness is not measured in the beats of our almost reliable heart, but in the beats that it skips.
As I lie in bed most nights, I put my hand to my chest, to feel my heart beat. To be sure that I'm still alive, and life's obligations still have a hold on me. When I whispered that I loved you, my heart skipped a beat. That instant time stopped forever. Life changed forever, and I will never know what was down that other road.
Human beings are creatures of time. We live within, and around time. It defines our existence. Who we are, (a 22 year old; too old or too young) and how we live, (between the hours of 7 a.m. and 12 p.m.; too long or too short). We speed time up, and years past in the instant of a memory, and we slow time down, embracing the surge of emotion in the moment that washes over us.
People measure time is measured by the light of the sun, the waxing and waning of the moon. However, we live in heartbeats, in moments, in the spaces between the seconds. We feel alive when our hearts race, and we die when our hearts crash into an unsteady gait.
Sometimes I never want to feel happy again, because the disappointment and impending doom is far too much to bear. I never asked for very much. Only to be treated the way you enjoy being treated. And then I die. Alone, unloved, unwanted, too broken to sit upright, too proud to stop killing myself trying. I only want what is best, even if a part of me has to die in the process.
Its the contradiction of existence. The bits and pieces in the fabric of us that strive for dominion. The bits and pieces of us that make up the lies of our truth. The wool over our eyes, the shadows in the sunlight, the possibility in stark contrast to the reality. We all want to escape.
Yet again, the numbers trail on, spiraling into the universe, infinity. What a brilliant concept. To imagine the unimaginable, such is the genius of man.
I have grown older. I know this not by the boy who calls me Uncle at the lift. Age is just a number, my daddy told me long ago. Slowly i begin to realise. Our oldness or youngness is not measured in the beats of our almost reliable heart, but in the beats that it skips.
As I lie in bed most nights, I put my hand to my chest, to feel my heart beat. To be sure that I'm still alive, and life's obligations still have a hold on me. When I whispered that I loved you, my heart skipped a beat. That instant time stopped forever. Life changed forever, and I will never know what was down that other road.
Human beings are creatures of time. We live within, and around time. It defines our existence. Who we are, (a 22 year old; too old or too young) and how we live, (between the hours of 7 a.m. and 12 p.m.; too long or too short). We speed time up, and years past in the instant of a memory, and we slow time down, embracing the surge of emotion in the moment that washes over us.
People measure time is measured by the light of the sun, the waxing and waning of the moon. However, we live in heartbeats, in moments, in the spaces between the seconds. We feel alive when our hearts race, and we die when our hearts crash into an unsteady gait.
Sometimes I never want to feel happy again, because the disappointment and impending doom is far too much to bear. I never asked for very much. Only to be treated the way you enjoy being treated. And then I die. Alone, unloved, unwanted, too broken to sit upright, too proud to stop killing myself trying. I only want what is best, even if a part of me has to die in the process.
Labels: Scooters in the fall
posted by Seython at 5:42 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home