Nostalgia
At one, perhaps many points in my life, I have defined myself with anger. I have been an iron case filled with fire; anger that made me strong, taught me restraint, gave me force of will. All through my youth, I was tired and angry, sad and angry, hurt and angry, even happy and angry. I was just angry, at people, events, ideas, history, myself... it needed no target, it needed no expression, it simply was, simmering and bright in the space behind my sight, staring out at the world without judgment or contempt. It inured me to pain, gave me stamina, quickened my pace and defined the boundaries of the world to me in clear, luminous counterpoint to my naturally more compassionate views. Here is what is right and here is why they have not done it. Here is what should be said and here is why it will not be. Duality.
At some point, I cannot place when exactly... that tension, that constant dynamic force faded. It just slipped away. I became really and truly angry last night for the first time in a long time... at no one but myself. Where once there was fire, a savage response, intense and poetic... there was nothing. Anger gave way almost instantly to sadness. Now instead of force of will, intensity of purpose that would have driven me to right my error... there is a sort of regretful acceptance. It is done... now the next.
Where has my anger gone?
Should I miss it?
At some point, I cannot place when exactly... that tension, that constant dynamic force faded. It just slipped away. I became really and truly angry last night for the first time in a long time... at no one but myself. Where once there was fire, a savage response, intense and poetic... there was nothing. Anger gave way almost instantly to sadness. Now instead of force of will, intensity of purpose that would have driven me to right my error... there is a sort of regretful acceptance. It is done... now the next.
Where has my anger gone?
Should I miss it?