Always a vastly easier task to let my mind spiral down than it making it march forward. Toxic thought, coursing about the unattended neurons. Any point in time. That which has, that which is happening and that which has not. And may never come to pass, but boy, I tell you thinking of the future in less than an optimal mind sure is something wicked.
Well, it’s not that its easy to think bad things. It just seems that there need not be any effort made in order to do so. I dare say- the lack of effort is a requirement. Negativity breeds better pooled in inactivity.
And speaking for myself, I bet I’m not the only one.
Funny thing about turning another year older… though further away in three dimensions plus one, there are portions of the past that can still feel very alive. But that’s not the peculiar part. What is wild is what survives stronger than the rest.
Perhaps without intending, or subliminally resurrected through conversation- I thought of someone. In past and present. I don’t dare assume the future. That wasn’t our deal. At the times that were the times I think of- we were kids of the moment.
And what thing those moments were. And what might have been, had we been brave enough. Had I been brave enough.
But across these spans of time, I thought of the sweetness had, though I was horrible at admitting. The comfort. The warmth. Sudden, and immediate familiarity. I can even recall the voice as it was, if only in tone and tenderness with no words exactly. All this, tremendous to me now, I tried to deny when it was.
One of the best relationships never had.
I wrote a tune about it. Recently. One I rather like. Strange thing, having a pen and pad rip right through you. Addictive.
If I were to reflect upon many of the moments of the past (which I often do) and recall all that I had run away from (which is many things, and pretty much everything romantically)- I’d feel the greatest of fools. Which I do. Which I was. As many men think of their younger days.
But they say something about fortune and fools and smiles. And she has smiled upon this fool. Many a moment in the past. The sort of ones that you can never tell how much they have molded you until the bags are packed and gone. Nothing but a note remaining on the table.
This doesn’t all apply to romantics, in the common sense. That is just where these thoughts have decided to linger. As of late.
And I’m either doomed or cursed to have all these special moments. The mundane has become impossible, it seems. If it ever were at all. This likely fuels the hermit machinery- another one of my complicated relationships.
As is all of this. This series. And my creative drive in general. But regarding the current periodical experiment… I still can never say quite what this is. Or what it is I mean to do here. It’s almost advice, in structure a bit. But the confidence is never so clean to serve as recommendation. Therapeutic in intention, but never enough divulged or thought through to ever truly provide such a specific relief. And I can’t say towards the entertainment value and have only heard from a limited audience. A self-limited one. But that might be intentional. Ask me in a few years.
And yet, so it goes on.
As do the other attempts.
It may be that I am still too young to know better. But I believe that excuse has nearly run itself dry. I may not have the wisdom of many years, but I certainly should have enough to not be totally naive.
And that is no easy task. Being a fool without being naive. And yet here I be, doing such.
Fortune has smiled upon me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to remember all the wonderful women I’ve made sad, for a moment or much, much more. Or how we made each other happy. While we could.
I don’t pretend to be all that important in the lives of others. And not pretending has allowed me to mean something. Which is good for the soul, even if not until years down the line.
The Veracious Facade 