(no subject)
I walked home from school today. Alone it seemed, for the first time in so long. I had a moment where I wondered if I was still here, walking home, or if I had fallen into the wrong world. I looked around and the wind seemed more forceful, the trees more barren, the sky less welcoming. A man was walking directly across the street from me, cane in hand. He seemed so distant, though perhaps 20 feet away, I felt as though an entire world separated us, and realized it was actually a lifetime of distance. Time, not space, a thing so intangible to me as to be unreal. And perhaps it is. Unreal, that is. Perhaps this is all the same moment, perhaps it's all already happened, everything I've done and all the things I'm doing or will ever do, but I am only now realizing it. Perhaps such a thing is the reason we sometimes feel unable to control our actions, because it is only in the rethinking or watching of our lives', which we have all along been considering actual life, that we notice our mistakes yet are powerless to stop them. And the moments, like this one I think I am having right now, where we look back upon our past, which has now not only been lived, but thought as well, perhaps this is another moment outside of the original one, the one looking back, the moment where we are rewatching the life we have supposedly lived. Or perhaps I have been alone forever. Watching an old man across the street and dreaming up a life for myself because I envy the one he has posessed, though he perches perilously close to its end. The end of life, or the end of the moment or the movie that is considered life? I wonder what he was like as a young man? Did he ever meet a young girl who pondered the intricacies of life as I am now doing? Did he ever watch an old woman, cane in hand, walk down the street, and wonder if she saw the lifetime that separated them? Or am I merely grasping at straws, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy, living this moment that I may have alreay lived, not actually having any choice over the words I type or the mistakes I make, not because of such as abstract concept as fate, but only because I have already done it and been unaware? Perhaps what I really need, is to not be alone anymore. This is no cry for anything, merely a rant. Because i have been feeling lonely of late, and my own thoughts are no consolation, yet when I type them the click and pound of keys can give the solace found commomly in comraderie. But that may just be another of my insane musings, in which case, ignore it. Ignore me. I'm just existing in that moment where you start to second guess youself...the one that makes the fall back down so hard to bear.