2006-10-28
-
Every time I begin a blog entry at the end of an eventful day I'd like to remember for the rest of my life, the backspace key gets activated less than a paragraph in.
How empty, journalling is. Nothing compared to the the things I've felt.
How shall I ever find words to describe the perfunctory Charisma that lines conversations? Or for the little forlorn feeling that creeps up when I'm in the crowd?
How do I tell of that tiny satisfaction I felt when my hand was in his? How do I explain it away, out of my confused, inconstant heart?
Then there are no words for the warm feeling you get when you re-discover a childhood friend, no words for the many the two of you exchange under the navy sky, no way to decide if the whole thing's familiar, or strange. You can't quite connect the easy, almost charming boy with the basketball kid who wouldn't talk to you when you were eleven. But all the same, walking beside him it feels like home.
Then there are those unlicensed feelings - the ones you get when he and he and he say your name as they pass you, pronoucing each syallable with the twinkle in their eyes. You like it. They make you smile like you've won the lottery. You are careful to tell yourself not to let their grins get to your head; a handkerchief salute isn't a red carpet invitation. Between the feeling and the erasing, you don't know where to place these feelings.
You watch the people you knew walking around with the people they now know. you know most of their new friends. But you are not in their present, so you can only watch from the past.
But when you come home to sit in front of your computer, the situation is reversed. You watch the past from your present, and watch as it eats away your future.
I am watching.
nothing ever happens at 12:14 a.m.