April 3, 2013 § Leave a comment
Sad things can move through the air like sounds. Moving the cells of your body in such a way that you perceive them suddenly. Like a note. Like a noise. But it’s suddenly you miss absolutely everyone you’ve ever met. And it aches. It makes you a little sick. Like you might dry heave in your heart.
Where do these waves come from? You could have sworn you had built an anechoic chamber here, here around the ion channels into your memories and feelings and thoughts, long, long ago. But then suddenly –
Suddenly I miss absolutely everyone I’ve ever met. I want to be near them. Whoever. Just again. Hello, I would say. Do you remember? Can we remember together? Then it’s almost like time hasn’t passed. Let’s be in the past in the present. Together.
Then let’s take a walk and try to hear everything around us. Let’s look at the same thing for a really long time. Let’s fuck even. Let’s get fries. Let’s drive. Let’s go to a mountain. Let’s put our hands on each other stomachs. Let’s write a song. Let’s pretend something. Anything. Let’s ask each other quiet questions. Let’s make fun of time and laugh about dying.
The older memories get the sadder they become. The spaces fill with regret and a withering. Maybe if we make a new one, we won’t feel so sad. Maybe for just a minute or two. Maybe.
I would take the cathartic sadness. The acute kind. The sort that you work through. The screaming and crying kind. The sort that comes on suddenly and eases over time. The sort from death. Or loss. Or pain. Or disappointment. The non-systemic kind. The kind you can wait out. The kind that feels good in the pulling on a loose tooth kind of way. But mine is dull and static and terminal. It can be ignored for a time but not forgotten. It becomes annoying. You learn to live with it, to compensate. Like losing a limb. Do you remember laughter, motherfucker? Come back, remind me. I’d rather laugh than get off.