Children in a forest with burning desires, burning a fire to remember all that has been lost, all that has yet to come, fears and negligence, disappointments thrown into dark green flames.
For a split span of time everything seems to fit into its idyllic frame, and in that moment I think of years gone by, letting the smoke of cigarettes and blazing wood to penetrate into every organ, into the blood, into the lungs. Inhale and Exhale. Let it destroy me and build me back up, let it leave a scar to comemorate, like a statue, a badge of honor. Watching people closely, those that are likely to disappear from my life, never to be seen again. In far away corners of the earth. Discovering things I had missed before, in my drunken delusions and distractions.
How is it possible for people I barely know to disappoint me again and again? And again.
Maybe it's for the best, I think in my mind and heart and soul, maybe now the odd sensations will leave my body, those of moments I had
hoped for, idealism of something that's been lost, something that never really existed.
Sitting around the last two years of our lives, and they're burning in reds and purples, greens hiding the sorrows we once loved so. Papers and papers marking our obssessions, our fascinations, our worst fears. The grades they gave us, the numbers they drew us with. Heat radiating from the intangible loveliness of the early hours of morning, before dawn, before life begins once again. Heat transferring through hugs and denial of the goodbyes. Like electricity. Sleeping with sunrise, near the dying fire. And all that's left now are the ashes flowing through the air in the slight wind of Sunday mornings.
Soon it will be the memories and the renascent heat. Trying to compare the commensurate notions of past and future, failing to comprehend fully the meaning of the conflagration that now sits in silence, sleeping as well, perhaps. What it will mean some far away day. What it means now.
Every sacroscent memory etched into my mind, and I try to organize transluscent dreams into appropriate moments and situations. Never forgetting the pseudo-reverie of that moment, in front of the fire, the moment a tear was lost and never seen.
ה-להתראות הראשון.
אנה.
בבלוג זה
בכל הבלוגים
כינוי:
Ms. Madeleine