Imagine this. You walk into a busy street, walk across a person you don't know then turn around, in split seconds thought: Wait. I know that person. I went out with that person before. No. I shared a moment with that person before. What's his name again? Then you spend the next three hours trying to remember the name. Shit it must be either Sam or Dan. Wait, I think it's Glen.
I have made too many strangers. When normally people are supposed to make important connections and relationships, I am out there turning acquaintances and friends into actors in a single appearance.
...
...
Two years. And I thought I have learned enough about keeping people and pleasing them. About choosing right words and right time and right opportunity and right battles.Consequently, I thought I have already acquired the required toughness to face the perennial sadness that comes from barren attempts to be whole, to be belonged, to be accepted. Two years and counting and I have never displayed an adequate semblance of have returned to normal.
Fast forward to the thought I am driving at. Here. On the same ground I stood where we left each other. After my failed attempts to be glad. After my attempts to replace meanings and memories. Here, in this familiar spot that feels like I really belong here and not any step farther. I keep coming back to this spot as if in a videogame where the hero unlimitedly would return to start after a failed mission.
This is where my gladness is found, at the possibility of starting again. At the possibility of a fateful day when God would look down on me and find favor in my persistence. Then I'd remember all the faces and all their names.
Dear solitude. Hello. We meet again.
2 palagay:
Don't be too hard on yourself. Maybe it was a memory better remembered some other time.
*hugs*
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