Firelight
It's been over a year since I've written anything.
I've got four drafts just sitting there, waiting to be finished. Four different titles, four different dates, four sentences that are lacking a conclusion. And try as I might, I can't even remember what I was trying to say when I was writing those. The published posts, those are easy to look back on and think "Yes, I remember EXACTLY what was going on during the time I was writing those!!!"
Like when I was trying to stay positive after being hit hard with some financial news and my mind was so overwhelmed that I couldn't do anything but acknowledge my own frustrations. Or when I found my first bed during a ransacking of a neighbor's back yard at nineteen (I thought I was so cool, even doing something as simple as that). For those of you that have actually read all of my postings, as few and far between as they have come, you've seen my frustrations, seen my spiritual doubts, and even read word that I hoped would some day inspire multitudes. And it's been those posts, those published words, that have cemented some memories for me.
It's a little unnerving, to say the least, that some of my memories can be cemented in so completely only by publishing a post, or finishing a journal entry, or even in pictures that I don't have anymore. It breaks my heart a little bit to know that in a few years I won't be able to remember hearing my daughter sing if I don't have a camera to capture a video, or I won't be able to remember the way my lover's touch felt if I don't have a picture that was taken in that moment. I have come to rely so heavily on outside forces to remember little things, and that, more than anything, breaks my heart.
It's all a matter of reflection, isn't it? Being able to pull out those momentos at a given time, go through those little triggers, and be able to compartmentalize every moment. Whether it's times of stress, frustration, depression, joy, exuberance, or pure ecstasy, my brain doesn't have the capacity to be able to keep everything together.
And it's in moments like this when I really just want to pull out the shoe boxes filled with notes from high school classes, pictures with old friends, letters and songs and memories, and be able to bask in the firelight with old memories that make the best friends.
I've got four drafts just sitting there, waiting to be finished. Four different titles, four different dates, four sentences that are lacking a conclusion. And try as I might, I can't even remember what I was trying to say when I was writing those. The published posts, those are easy to look back on and think "Yes, I remember EXACTLY what was going on during the time I was writing those!!!"
Like when I was trying to stay positive after being hit hard with some financial news and my mind was so overwhelmed that I couldn't do anything but acknowledge my own frustrations. Or when I found my first bed during a ransacking of a neighbor's back yard at nineteen (I thought I was so cool, even doing something as simple as that). For those of you that have actually read all of my postings, as few and far between as they have come, you've seen my frustrations, seen my spiritual doubts, and even read word that I hoped would some day inspire multitudes. And it's been those posts, those published words, that have cemented some memories for me.
It's a little unnerving, to say the least, that some of my memories can be cemented in so completely only by publishing a post, or finishing a journal entry, or even in pictures that I don't have anymore. It breaks my heart a little bit to know that in a few years I won't be able to remember hearing my daughter sing if I don't have a camera to capture a video, or I won't be able to remember the way my lover's touch felt if I don't have a picture that was taken in that moment. I have come to rely so heavily on outside forces to remember little things, and that, more than anything, breaks my heart.
It's all a matter of reflection, isn't it? Being able to pull out those momentos at a given time, go through those little triggers, and be able to compartmentalize every moment. Whether it's times of stress, frustration, depression, joy, exuberance, or pure ecstasy, my brain doesn't have the capacity to be able to keep everything together.
And it's in moments like this when I really just want to pull out the shoe boxes filled with notes from high school classes, pictures with old friends, letters and songs and memories, and be able to bask in the firelight with old memories that make the best friends.
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