Wind in a Padded Room

Somehow each time I picture me in my head I am always alone.

Through the act of living, sadness piles up here and there. Whether the sheets are hung up to dry in the shade from the loss of sun, the toothbrushes kissing in the bathroom, or the history logs of my cellphone. “Do I appear not whole (halved)…?’ I wrote that in a text message to somebody who asked me if my book was ready for purchase. I completely misunderstood her question and it left me feeling unsettled, feeling that time was spreading out in ripples from the first drop of stone long before and was passing through me and taking away bits of me – imperceptible like the secular perturbation of a planet’s orbit.

We pass the time of day to forget how time passes. Things we do everyday – crossing the road, going into the convenience store, working, checking our inboxes and our facebooks – bring us no closer; not even 1 centimetre closer; to the shapeless dreams we all have but cannot see.

Over these past few years, I’ve only wanted to move forward and touch that which I couldn’t reach, though I’ve never been able to tangibly define what it was. Not knowing where those near-intimidating thoughts came from, i simply continued going through the days as they came. As things finally came into focus, my soul was in unbearable pain, knowing that my imagination is gradually losing the freedom and flexibility of bygone days.

Mornings I wake up, turn and gaze at my sleeping beloved and give thanks, relieved that I have not completely lost my earnest and acute feelings from long ago. The me that I know and like is still there, several layers deep.

I am like an elevator in a building full of experiences. My form does not change as I ascend or descend. I make journeys either with weight or emptiness, lightness or heaviness, claustrophobia or airiness.

My partner wonders why I do not write more about him. I want to tell him that happiness stays in much more easily than any other emotion. Happiness, even caught, is fleeting, because its cage is vast. It scrapes its wings along the corridors of the soul and hurtles through the heart like leaves in the wind. I want to tell him that together we have captured happiness and I feel everyday the palpable beats of its wings within me. I find it amazing that he is so perceptive and intuitive to what is happening around him. I love it when he shares surprising insights and looks at me with a smile. It makes me immensely pleased to know that there is someone I care for that cares for me too, even the insignificant aspects.

Does looking back into the past help answer the present’s and the future’s questions?

…Little things that get lost in the deluge and returns unexpectedly, good and bad.

Time.

Sinking fast, I often am brought back with the sneaking suspicion that time is an illusion and the more you think about it the more you are drawing yourself into it. Time is a stream where I dropped my thoughts and watch in dismay as its currents carry them away. My foot sometimes closes over a smooth pebble and I am momentarily released from its spell. But Time is the pebble too, since the pebble is in the stream. Time makes you bloat with misspent anger and leaves you ever the more lost.

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