You know how you reminisce about a certain time in your life and wonder if you will ever be able to relive those days? I’d been feeling that way lately, what with all the changes in my life in the last couple of months. Then, this weekend I had the opportunity to go back in the not too distant past and fill my days and nights with the same old nothings and that one big everything. I’m not sure how I feel except that I feel more like me than I have since the middle of May. Which may be a bad thing in the real and practical world, but it spells a sense of relief and contentment for me. I’m trying to make a major overhaul keeping in mind the ever-looming future, but somewhere along the way, this tends to dissipate the pieces of me that I hold dear and cling on to in moments of confusion and even moments of clarity.
So here I am feeling so much like the real me when I know all too well that she’s slipping away. Here I am feeling as comfortably numb as ever (yup, Floyd forever) when I know all too well that new feelings have punctured the surface. Here I am holding on to memories when I know all too well that these are memories I no longer recognize. Are they really mine, or did I borrow them from the beautiful man in a navy blue linen shirt and trousers the colour of baked sands? In the end, it doesn’t really matter because soon this too will be a memory I no longer recognize and a pocket of time I will not be able to place myself inside.
“The more things change, the more they stay the same.” Who said that? Someone who knew what they were talking about, and whose name now escapes me. It’s true for you, it’s true for me, it’s true for us all. Everything’s changed and yet, nothing really has. I still want what I want. I still love who I love. I still write because I need to. I still wish I would disappear.