I think I have finally learned how to embrace this. This mess of not-quite-blood. I am in love with what it does to me, how it churns my insides so I can only coil around myself and feel everything all at once. Sure, it makes me sad. It makes me awful sad. But that is always when they seem closest to me- – those ghostythings.
Paul Simon appears in my dreams when my life starts to slip on it’s own vomit. Calmly, and with his acoustic guitar always perched on one raised knee (like a renaissance mandolin courter in funny balloon pants), he makes suggestions to slow down and trust the grime.
What is it that makes people rush so? Like being angry at a driver in front of you simply for being in front of you, when you’ve got all day to get somewhere. Or, and this is a strange one, opting to take the quieter highway- the one with the winding roads that are smaller but closer to the trees and earth, but complaining that the car in front is slowly taking in the views, preventing you from hitting 20 marks above the speed limit.
I remember when 3am used to haunt me solid and shake me bad. But here I am now, watching the sun set over traffic jams on 10th street in Kensington. There are noises everywhere. There is a heat that is making my nose full-up with a stuffy ache. There is a hunger in my stomach i’ve ignored for almost 3 days and all I really want is to sleep and wake up with the smell of the river coming in and the seagulls screeching loud. Homesick? It feels like it. But I never really knew where to call home in the first place.