Void
getting ready to move...
Feeling lighter and freer than I've ever felt, and yet, I am incomplete. Human. I remember too much, and far too little...
I have to shed lots of material things, and I'm eager to do so. But I finally tossed out Melisa's old Pentium 200, and that's so heavy to me. I carefully removed its hard drive, and some data CD that was in its old CD-ROM drive. (I didn't look at that disk yet; I don't mind delaying little surprises.)
I stared at the beaten old, partially deconstructed computer case before I walked out with it. I kissed it. This was the computer that Melisa met me through. This was the conduit and processor for our chat messages, IM and emails; the dialogue that, for two years-- excepting a few phone calls-- constituted "Greg." I've clung to it far longer than she.
Melisa was the most important person in my life for over seven years. It's through her I came to Illinois. Through her, mainly, I met Molly; and through Molly I met deviantart, and then Maia. Through Maia, I spent enough time with Savannah to realize that I want to live there. And so I shall-- but as much as everything touches, I'm neither broken nor whole enough to leave without some pain. Today was my last visit to Melisa's house, which used to be ours, my home of five years-- and still in some ways, the truest home I've known. But I'm too wild for such homes to endure.
I'll see Melisa again, but I said goodbye to my three beloved cats who remain, Mary, Shady and Viktor. They're all so unique, but they remind me at times of myself, others, and everything. I felt very alive, very present and mostly free with them-- able to touch each passing moment without grasping too tightly. And the memories are good, but perhaps a bit too near. I don't know if I'll ever see these creatures again... which is, of course, always true of everything. But things aren't black and white, nor gray; they're full of colors, and these colors are heavy, here, now. And that's okay. Everything is just fine.
I said bye to my cats, came home and worked on moving. I extracted data from that old computer, leaving a symbolic sentimental shell. I stared at it, kissed it, and carried it into the brisk winter night. I looked at my dorm building marching by, the contrast of something far newer and briefer in my experience, yet still so huge. So indescribably beautiful. I was so entirely there in my last few thankful, affectionate moments with the heavy old computer, as I threw it hard into the dumpster. It, and everything connected with it-- everything-- is inside me, just a bit different.
Words are so silly.
Day in and day out, I feel lighter. I know every thing I can conceive touches everything else, and I can't touch it all at once. I hurt myself, sometimes, but I'm learning my humanity in ways beyond logic and words. It leads me, ever more joyfully broken, toward freedom.