Monday, April 14, 2008

No, really, I'm fine.

I should have made this a while ago because everything I have to say is old.
Like, April 6th old. And this is no poetry.

Way later, words later, thoughts later, blank later:
I am ready to die, but so reluctant to let go.
I am an unfinished story.
I hope so hard that I'm given the chance to complete things.
We are of a neverending existence. We've never been happier than this, and we have never been more hopeless, sad, and falsely fortuned. Yet, this is us in the whole of everything we've ever had. All we have is what we see, what we feel, and that we are, in fact, alive while these things are passing through us.
In a way, I wish I could die at this moment because, to be honest, I'm afraid of the (un)predictability of tomorrow and all of this week.
What will happen when Sunday comes and all of a sudden, fifteen is gone?
Will I ever again be answered?
Through it all, though, I realize that this is the purview of my life and what is entitled to it. So, if the moment were to come, and though I'd be scared without anyone's hand to hold, I would accept the pause in existence that we have called death.

That isn't to say that I want to die. All I mean is that indestructability has found its way in moving in my direction.
I want to see what's next for me and for whatever else is a part of me.
There is so much that I already have that it brings me hope for its evolution.
As people of the twenty first century, we let ourselves believe that we need so much more.
We need what is, or isn't, past the horizon.
But for me, right now, Lake Michigan is the end of the world.
There is nothing past the hills and mountains of Portland.

I have this
and all I can do
is...the only thing I can do.

I can try to salvage what sometimes seems to be slipping
without surrendering,
without fighting,
and instead, by understanding.
I am remarkably sad, and
I am remarkably ________.
If my first attempt does not work, so be it.
I'll be even sadder and much more hurt, but I will take it somehow.
Something tells me that there is really no end.
I am deeply in love
with more
than a human or two.
We can start over, but I'm not making a decision yet because I haven't even met you.
We're friends, but we haven't made each other yet.
I'll be damned if I'm proven wrong and I still believe in double meaning.
The opposite of right is not wrong,
it's left.
There's a way out.
We've got flashlights and five senses, just in case.

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