Wednesday, September 1, 2004

Something I wrote on the walk home..
As I walk these streets of cracked concrete and abused asphalt, my mind wanders to other things, other things that I normally would not, normally would push back in my mind..

Everything has a set course, but my life has changed such in the last four years, that sometime my own existance becomes a trial; what is real, and what is fantasy? These two things have crashed into each other so many times that sometimes I wonder..

What my beliefs are and what my feelings are have the ability to come apart at the seams at any moment. Beauty is relative; blood can be as beautiful as a rose, if viewed by the proper eyes.

I dreamt once that I was comatose, but my eyes had still focused on the world around me. I lie, untouched, as the world around me changed, faded, and moved away from my fingertips. People I loved moved on. Politics continued. People regarded my state as a loss, but to me, I was awake. As wakefullness is, of course, just an object of sleep, properly determined.

I felt lonely. After a while, those who visited were unable to love me anymore. They came, they spoke without looking at me. I dreamt Luke was there, Luke, my only drive to live over the last year, but he said nothing.

He stared. I wondered if he knew, but he said nothing. It was as if he were regarding an object of possession that had just broken. Remembering.

Loneliness is not a state of mind, it is a being. This being can completely overtake a person's life, can it not?

I cross the intersection; I have almost made it home from work. My pen scrawls indiscriminate words on an old notepad that has been abused and beaten. A car slows down at my side, and I am stared at for a few moments. I suppose this is a strange vision; a girl in a large black hat and a trenchcoat is walking down the street on a sunny day, writing as she goes.

Haha. A good laugh, really. What a fool. Pity.

I am unable to determine why they laugh at me. I certainly don't feel I am any better than they are; I don't feel they have any standing over me, either. A car is a status symbol. This is part of the reason I do not strive to get one.

My train of thought is lost. What was I writing about before this?

I recall work today. I just signed a book at the Wal*Mart. I am trying to get on night crew so I can see Luke more. I need him to be near me more. The lonliness has been like a disease lately.

I am forever myself. Everything I do is somehow seen as some sort of idiosm. All I care about seems foolish, small, belittling. I feel my writing is getting worse; I have difficulty reading this.

Sometimes I am not aware if this is truly what I want. I don't know what I want. I don't know if I am who I truly believe. I know time will play the fool with my mind until it feels it relevant to disclose this information.


-Rayne

Comments (0)