Recently I have been toying with the idea of grieving a memory. Call me emo, but I can pass by a park I used to play at and become lost in thought, lost in the amazement that a moment is over and done and can never be returned to. So much lost time. I think I am beginning to understand the idea of "no time." No time lost. No long times in-between. No more wasting time. No more times gone by. Sounds better and better all the time!
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Feeding my ghosts, they grow large and fluorescent, burning my eyes with their horrible beauty. So bright, as though they had just flashed before my eyes! I reach out my hand, but it is only light beams of something that once breathed, and breathes no more. My preoccupation with the non-living has become an essential part of my being. I am becoming a hollowed out cave, and the oceans of my memory creep inside. It is cold and dark, but the salt smell is beautiful and lost in a haunting mist of thought, I lose myself to weeping over you. For awhile, this too was beautiful, but then I began to dislike the ache. I have been hungry too long without any substantial food. It is as though I am dying of thirst, but there is no hope of water. At first the thirst was almost beautiful, it was a deep longing. But searching, and having come up dry, I am hopelessly discouraged. I thought I had let it go again and again. I think I am afraid to say goodbye to these ghosts. They give me a little hope. Most of all, I think I am afraid to forget. Perhaps because I will lose a part of myself. Or maybe because I will forget what it is like to be a child. Possibly because I loved.
