(no subject)
Standing as far above the ground as my head will ever allow me to get, and I am just another human starring into the night sky, enveloped by the darkness. I wonder, is this what death feels like? To be surrounded by nothing? But no, I will never be alone. The eye and all its decorations are out tonight, without our smoke to fill up the night sky, clouding us into our smaller spaces, our one room apartments, our artificial wombs. Tonight I make the decision to not lust after my birth again, to turn in the opposite direction, and soon I will just be another person, making his way through the world. To what end? Well that is for my eyes to tell me. I can’t decide what this feels like, to be outside in the cold dreary night with the rain to keep me alive. It feels incomplete, without the cherished smell of wood burning wafting from the tops of our castles. But that was my last generation. Perhaps this event feels incomplete now, but it’s only new, and maybe in a few years I will be standing on my new place in the world, looking at the sky from another angle, and then again I will find myself thinking these same thoughts. I can only hope that eventually I will belong to a spot of land, and that I will coexist with the world in some manner that lends to my best years. Or perhaps I will perish without ever finding home again, after turning from my genesis.
I find myself thinking about him, after he passed away and before he lived. It’s hard to think about the in between, the spots where I fall in. Tonight though, so close to the sky, I feel as if I owe this to him, as if he would want me to reflect on his path through the Earth, in and out of it again as fleeting to the stars as a single glance that I could give them. I remember his frown for years, and my dislike. But it’s hard to ever really know a person, and I understand that now more than ever. Life seems so much to be about lost chances, so much that I haven’t done or never will be able to do. My past haunts me, compelling me to worry about what I have already kept myself from doing unconsciously. This though, this belongs to me. I can remember the single night we spent, just talking about how trees grow so tall and so wide, and how the water longs to be in the earth. His thoughts were something entirely foreign to me, and I swore at myself for ever mistrusting them. There are few people left in this world that I can say I’ve truly embraced. Even fewer that I could say I’ve allowed to embrace me.
Sometimes I wonder why I find it so easy to stare at patterns for hours. To just look at something and really try and understand it, but then never be able to listen to a lengthy description of it. There is something more to witnessing something than to be exposed to it by another witness, but I haven’t quite figured it out yet. Rumor has it that people grow poor and die in the cities, maybe that’s why I decided to leave the castles, the smell of wood burning, my home. I thought I could understand the pattern better if I just stared at it, studied it. I will wait for winter, and when it comes, I will stand in my same spot, as far above the ground as my head will allow, and I will study the world. What is underneath the white blankets? And I’ll wonder if any of those same people I keep thinking about, those who make us frown until we take the time to sit with them and talk about their lives, I’ll wonder if they’ve gone to rest away from everything for the last time, underneath that peaceful white. Do they resurface? And looking up, staring at the black night I wonder if we all have this same fate, to fall to rest under such cloaks. If I stand here forever, and die under this night sky, will I resurface? And I can only wonder, watching my head fill, but I know I will never be alone, for the eye is out with all its decorations.
I find myself thinking about him, after he passed away and before he lived. It’s hard to think about the in between, the spots where I fall in. Tonight though, so close to the sky, I feel as if I owe this to him, as if he would want me to reflect on his path through the Earth, in and out of it again as fleeting to the stars as a single glance that I could give them. I remember his frown for years, and my dislike. But it’s hard to ever really know a person, and I understand that now more than ever. Life seems so much to be about lost chances, so much that I haven’t done or never will be able to do. My past haunts me, compelling me to worry about what I have already kept myself from doing unconsciously. This though, this belongs to me. I can remember the single night we spent, just talking about how trees grow so tall and so wide, and how the water longs to be in the earth. His thoughts were something entirely foreign to me, and I swore at myself for ever mistrusting them. There are few people left in this world that I can say I’ve truly embraced. Even fewer that I could say I’ve allowed to embrace me.
Sometimes I wonder why I find it so easy to stare at patterns for hours. To just look at something and really try and understand it, but then never be able to listen to a lengthy description of it. There is something more to witnessing something than to be exposed to it by another witness, but I haven’t quite figured it out yet. Rumor has it that people grow poor and die in the cities, maybe that’s why I decided to leave the castles, the smell of wood burning, my home. I thought I could understand the pattern better if I just stared at it, studied it. I will wait for winter, and when it comes, I will stand in my same spot, as far above the ground as my head will allow, and I will study the world. What is underneath the white blankets? And I’ll wonder if any of those same people I keep thinking about, those who make us frown until we take the time to sit with them and talk about their lives, I’ll wonder if they’ve gone to rest away from everything for the last time, underneath that peaceful white. Do they resurface? And looking up, staring at the black night I wonder if we all have this same fate, to fall to rest under such cloaks. If I stand here forever, and die under this night sky, will I resurface? And I can only wonder, watching my head fill, but I know I will never be alone, for the eye is out with all its decorations.