of getting older, and losing the memories that got me here.
of spending more time talking about what was, than about what will be.
of seeing my hope become regret, and realizing that the worst days behind me are still my best days.
of always having that pull in my stomach when i think of certain places, see certain people, or remember certain things.
of seeing more people that i love, people even closer to me, die… of seeing people that i love get sick, or suffer first.
of watching as time and life take their toll on my corner of the universe.
of finishing my time on earth alone.
it hurts, this terror, it pulls at my skin and makes my hair stand on end.
it distracts me during mundane tasks, popping up like a horrible jack-in-the-box.
it keeps me awake at night, experiencing every tragedy that could ever occur, all at once, over and over, til my restless thoughts become my paralyzing nightmares.
it forces distance between the world and me.
it keeps me from getting close, to mitigate the pain of loss.
it magnifies issues of abandonment that are clown-like in their own grotesque crying-inside-but-laughing-outside way.
it makes me hard, coarse, gravelly, cold. like a newly poured foundation – appearing for all the world to be ready for greatness, but for the hairline cracks that will widen with time and force, until they can no longer bear the brunt of the weight laid atop them.
it is this sensation of despair that drives me. i awake each day with the singular purpose of outwitting gravity, of feeling lighter than my cosmic mass should rightly allow, of pushing off the heaviness for one more day, twenty-four more hours that this crushing empathy for existence cannot destroy my soul.
it is beauty from pain.
connection borne of isolation.
and out of despair…