(no subject)
Pink roses on white porcelain, a silent caution that time and death wait for no one. Its elegance haunts from the highest shelf; it is both shameful and endearing in its morbid symbolism. Such tokens of death as an urn unused should be stored away, not put on display as a constant reminder of the inevitable. As routine, I am holding on as she lets go.
There has never been a spoken reason for her actions and questions are not to be asked. We are caught in moments daily where I am reminded of her frailty, her calm acceptance of death, and her lack of hope. I endeavor to make her happy, excite her about the next day or the next week. . .I keep thinking that as long as I can do that, she will not lose her fading smile. To see her pleased, even for a moment, due to my actions makes everything worth it, makes any personal sacrifice a victory. Living without her, when the times comes, will be the most difficult trial I have ever faced.
All my emotions are heavy, the joy and the depression is no longer sharp and intense. Everything I am feeling has gone so deep recently, as if I am living on a planet with 10x greater gravity than the earth I once knew. Perceptions change, situations begin to affect the soul differently, and the entire spirit can come to a halt and say, "Ok, maybe I should have asked for directions at that 7-11. I don't think this is the right way, you were right ol' Brain, we should have made that left back at the Life-39 junction." One thing I cannot deal with is regret, doubting past decisions I have made. . .I have always avoided such an emotion and way of thought; however, I have come to the point where I honestly think I acted too rashly, too impulsively, and too selfishly. The complication lies in that on all the roads of life, you cannot go back. You may take a road similar or you can cut across to a different road entirely, but there are no u-turns. It does not help either that we have no map to go by save the one we've created in our minds of where we have already been. Predictions of probability are all we have to go on. We know where this path 'should' take us and we can 'approximate' the delay in traffic, but nothing is ever certain. I am convinced in the end that all walks of life are just like the roads in Little Cove. The road you mean to stay on actually turns off to a 90 degree angle while there is another road straight ahead. Every breath we take decides how distracted we are when the signs appear in the headlights for a fleeting moment to warn us of the turn off. And in a place like Little Cove, it could take you a considerable amount of time if you have never traveled through before to realize you are no longer on 456, because in every direction, the scenery does not really change. I could go much further with this metaphor, but I shan't.
If there are words in the english language to describe my frame of mind and heart, I do not know them. Words are increasingly inadequate to describe any of my experiences, or perhaps, I have simply lost the ability to relate them. All I can hear and speak are riddles, all answers elude me. I cannot make a decision about anything but my loyalty to my grandmother.
I want to do something wonderful with my life, something undeniably significant and meaningful. . . Unfortunately, my solution to realizing this ideal is unorthodox.
On the other hand, how can anyone deny the pleading of their soul? Something is right in front of me, and as crazy at it may sound, I can feel my core reaching out like a hand from my solar plexus to grab it. I need to understand what it is specifically that I need so badly before my physical being takes action. But on the other hand, if I wait too long, whatever it is that my soul has found blind to my eyes may disappear. That holds the distinct possibility of leaving me even more bereft.
A decision must be made before I am left with yet another thing to regret. This is the time of year that I am most haunted and April 1st is too close for comfort. I am tormented by the happiest of times. . . .
Lost.
There has never been a spoken reason for her actions and questions are not to be asked. We are caught in moments daily where I am reminded of her frailty, her calm acceptance of death, and her lack of hope. I endeavor to make her happy, excite her about the next day or the next week. . .I keep thinking that as long as I can do that, she will not lose her fading smile. To see her pleased, even for a moment, due to my actions makes everything worth it, makes any personal sacrifice a victory. Living without her, when the times comes, will be the most difficult trial I have ever faced.
All my emotions are heavy, the joy and the depression is no longer sharp and intense. Everything I am feeling has gone so deep recently, as if I am living on a planet with 10x greater gravity than the earth I once knew. Perceptions change, situations begin to affect the soul differently, and the entire spirit can come to a halt and say, "Ok, maybe I should have asked for directions at that 7-11. I don't think this is the right way, you were right ol' Brain, we should have made that left back at the Life-39 junction." One thing I cannot deal with is regret, doubting past decisions I have made. . .I have always avoided such an emotion and way of thought; however, I have come to the point where I honestly think I acted too rashly, too impulsively, and too selfishly. The complication lies in that on all the roads of life, you cannot go back. You may take a road similar or you can cut across to a different road entirely, but there are no u-turns. It does not help either that we have no map to go by save the one we've created in our minds of where we have already been. Predictions of probability are all we have to go on. We know where this path 'should' take us and we can 'approximate' the delay in traffic, but nothing is ever certain. I am convinced in the end that all walks of life are just like the roads in Little Cove. The road you mean to stay on actually turns off to a 90 degree angle while there is another road straight ahead. Every breath we take decides how distracted we are when the signs appear in the headlights for a fleeting moment to warn us of the turn off. And in a place like Little Cove, it could take you a considerable amount of time if you have never traveled through before to realize you are no longer on 456, because in every direction, the scenery does not really change. I could go much further with this metaphor, but I shan't.
If there are words in the english language to describe my frame of mind and heart, I do not know them. Words are increasingly inadequate to describe any of my experiences, or perhaps, I have simply lost the ability to relate them. All I can hear and speak are riddles, all answers elude me. I cannot make a decision about anything but my loyalty to my grandmother.
I want to do something wonderful with my life, something undeniably significant and meaningful. . . Unfortunately, my solution to realizing this ideal is unorthodox.
On the other hand, how can anyone deny the pleading of their soul? Something is right in front of me, and as crazy at it may sound, I can feel my core reaching out like a hand from my solar plexus to grab it. I need to understand what it is specifically that I need so badly before my physical being takes action. But on the other hand, if I wait too long, whatever it is that my soul has found blind to my eyes may disappear. That holds the distinct possibility of leaving me even more bereft.
A decision must be made before I am left with yet another thing to regret. This is the time of year that I am most haunted and April 1st is too close for comfort. I am tormented by the happiest of times. . . .
Lost.