and this is life♥June 23, 2006♥ prev/next♥
Tears come easily to me these days, as readily as brief and violent thunderstorms swell sultrily in late summer afternoons. I feel not unlike a summer afternoon in some respects--drowning in sultry languor, flushed with heat, drowsy and limp with that peculiarly restless need for too-warm slumber that comes in summer. I sleep and dream deeply, and wake slowly, reluctantly.
I feel as though I have been worn down, as though I am shielded only by a smoky curving layer of glass, cracked so that the sloshing sea inside me is dripping out whenever I am shaken even gently or lightly. I don't know why. I don't seem to know the answers for anything these days. I can't explain these slashes of fury or misery that slap me down; I can't explain the way I move so blankly and numbly through my days, and take pleasure in so little. I have no answers.
Last night I found myself wondering--what if tomorrow were my last day? What if something happened, what if I were to find out I was terminally ill? Could I say I've lived life as if there were no day but today, so that each moment was full to bursting, spilling over and flowing like the brightest colors of paint?
I can, in some respects. But in others--there were chances I didn't take, there were things I didn't leap for, times when I hid when I should have said "Here I am!" or, in some cases, ran like hell. And I didn't.
And yet--I have found a path to peace earlier in life than many of my peers. I have delved deep into books, deep enough to reach the bottom of the ocean, and surfaced the better for it. I have loved, I have lost, I have laughed and I have sung and dreamed, painted, written, and pursued my dreams as best as I could.
And I have been acquainted with the night, as Frost said, knowing ranges of emotion that have strengthened me and made me sparkle.
Maybe I've not done so bad after all.