an interlude, where i express certain things obliquely through lousy prose:he'd come to relate the lake to the place itself, an almost fetishistic view of his entire life that is justified only because of object's scale. the problem, obviously, with placing so much faith in a single entity is that if the entity itself disappears from one's life, then the gap that is left is large indeed. so right now he has a lake michigan-sized hole in his heart and little hope of filling it up.
some say that it doesn't matter though, these memories. after all, it's better to have memories than have nothing at all. but all memories need a kind of anchor, and when that is gone, even good memories tend to go bad. it wasn't too long ago, but he knows that in some ways the distance can make time seem even longer. he is separated from all that makes him feel the world makes sense, and there is nothing he can do about it.
yet it's not really a problem of missing something. there is no point. after all, he will be back where he belongs soon and things will no doubt be alright. yet somehow he can't help but feel the closing of doors. each time we go back is a different time, he thought. timing is everything. the gears have failed to mesh in time and now they are all out of sync again.
no matter at all. he turned to the tabbed page and read the lines that was meant for him to read but someone else to understand. all will be well someday, whatever the outcome, where ever he was.
No comments:
Post a Comment