Tuesday, October 01, 2013

The Incurable Diarrhea of the Mind

If you could see someone and see their ghosts when you looked into their eyes
The haunting ghosts of a time long since passed, seen in their gait, in their smile, in the way they pause sometimes when they're talking.
If in dreams you could remember how you felt exactly at some point in your life
So when you would wake up the world looks unfamiliar, cold, unfriendly enough to make you wish you could go back to that dream
So you conclude that nothing is ever irrecoverable as long as it lived and breathed at some point and you knew it. Even if your knowledge of it differed from what it really was.
But you knew it and now you can't forget it, and so it will live on, if not in reality, in your head.
And reality is that; what you choose and what is allowed to exist. What you've lent enough importance to, so it looms large, however irrelevant it really is. And most times your reality and reality are strangers who act like friends when they meet, but when they part ways they seem to each other lost, and your reality does not again allow reality to exist.
If all it took were short naps and long walks
And a nice bath, and hours of iPod-ing into the night
And silly time with the closest friends
And lots of true, whole hearted, so-much-it-hurts-your-insides laughter.
If this was all it took to forget, you surely would, eventually though, you would, you would have to, time is a beautiful thing. You surely would.
If everyday began like this one, nothing would ever change.
It is then comforting to know that change, if nothing else, is the most dependable thing in the whole wide world.
Change, then, also becomes the bitch.
Friend when you expect it, foe when you dread it.

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