2006-10-12
the taunting whisper
Sometimes, when I stop to think- allow myself to pause and feel the fibers from inside- I can see the corroding emptiness of how much I miss you. And it's not even something I can logically comprehend because I know that when I had what I now long for, I didn't necessarily view it as the most charmed life. And I would have been alarmed had I known then that I would look back upon it with nostalgic yearning. I can't reasonably understand.
But that doesn't change that the feeling exists, like a taunting, incessant whisper when I listen for it in the cold silence. It amplifies the hollow chatter that surrounds me, and then I scold the dramatic, victimizing self I can be, which further perpetuates this yearning. And I am aware how it is not healthy or beneficial for me, but that does not change the resounding, palpable absense that I am left with inside.
I miss my past existence so much. I know that being here is right and best and good but I want so badly the familiarity and already-established love and acceptance that I owned there.
I don't always feel it so strongly, but sometimes it is sparked and hits me so deep each time.
I'm not strong enough, I say, tasting my own tears. I am omre mature and responsible than these emotions, I tell myself. But these pangs in the center of my chest never seem to fully leave.
Sometimes the longing is dormant, but it is always there, so real yet abstract. It's everything- the whole conglomerated image I have of my old life. It might be romanticized or filtered and edited, but it is mine and I know it. I know it, I understand it, it understands me. It is in stark contrast to anything I now have.
I can't seem to muster up a perspective that gains enough promise at this place. There is a boy who sings old Weezer songs off-key in the lunch line. There's Megan, who I just want to be with and know that I don't have to say things to try to get her to accept me because she already does. There's a neighborhood that almost resembles some of home's. I think details like this are the best I can manage, and they are all so fragmented and disconnected from me.
I don't feel like I can sing. I don't mean literally belting out a tune, but I mean it in a more abstract, poetic sense. I don't feel like I can let myself carry a tune of my own life melody- no tjust the random quirks but also the profound appreciation of beauty and happiness. No one wants to hear my song (boo-hoo, I know, but really). I don't feel so impelled by many things as I wish I did, and I feel an element of helplessness in trying to remedy any of it. I don't see any feasible solution, and maybe some knowing person from an outside perspective would tell me that there isn't one. Time has to take its course. Patience. Focus on matters other than the self. Just breathe, and sleep.
Sleep and dream to put yourself back there. Recall memories not in longing dismay, but with fond remembrance and their intrinsic promise that good times will come again.
That is the best I can tell myself to do right now. Please wish for me better.
leesah-likes at 12:03 a.m.