enfin's reality

apartment of the poor

veritas vitas

i had this discussion last evening that shed a lot of life in my values and my main concerns.  i’ve known for quite sometime that i have anxiety, and initially it was thought to have stemmed from the tragedy that happened this past summer.  deep down, i’ve known its been around for quite some time prior to this past summer, but i was talking with a about death, and life and everything. and i used to be terrified of death- i’ve always respected it though.  but anyway, while we were discussing what the cycle of life, this chill took over my body, i just started shaking uncontrollably because its so difficult to fathom that one day you can be sitting in your cubicle, and the next day you’re gone from this planet.  or so we know at this point.  its amazing to think that we’re living our lives just to die. i know that’s sort of a cynical way of thinking about it, but we’ll all end up in the same place at some time or another- yeah? we live for what, a guestimate of 75 years just to die.  think about the people who lived 200 years ago.  its been probably 125 years since they were alive.  talk about some rest.

i’ve always tried to appreciate every day i survive, but sometimes its difficult for me to do so.  but with all these thoughts surrounding death, and tragedy and loss, i suppose you should count your hens and show some thanks.  you’ll never know when your time will be up, and i know that sounds rather cliche coming out of my mouth but the last time i really thought about death, the last time i got nervous for my own death was when i was at least ten years old driving home from poland springs.  i remember how nervous i got, how i began to cry, because when you think about it, death’s emotional.  you leave your earth body. but do you go anywhere afterwards? we all hope we do.  but how can we be sure? we can’t. that’s the beauty of death and life… its all a mystery, and you just have to accept it.

another thing i was thinking about was what it feels like just before you die.  does it hurt? im sure for some…yes. but ive always imagined it feels like a knot sinking deep into your stomach and you have your final exhale where you can clearly feel the knot present, but after a good couple of seconds, it slowly starts to disappear.  during this time i also expect you are ridding yourself of extra baggage and all connections to the earth.

but i’m sort of done talking about this right now. i’m tired, and thoughts are not flowing as they should be.

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Uncategorized, writing

we could solve a mystery together

Foolish: An Interlude

I have this friend, who doesn’t know it.

A boy of many words, all of which vary in length, meaning and origin.  A boy of many places, hailing from New England, only to be found in New England years after his birth.  A boy of a significant rearing- perhaps similar to mine, but at this moment, remains undiscovered by yours truly.  This boy- in essence, the boy, knows me like most.  She’s crazy and funny.  Smart N sassy.  Maybe a bit too young.  But overall, she’s a girl…that I can relate to.  He knows me like that, but he doesn’t.  He hasn’t said those things, perhaps, those words, have never even crossed his mind! It’s atrocious, and detrimental (mind you) to think, that just because I think ever so highly of him, doesn’t mean that he understands, and in exchange, has his own thoughts of me.  He’s my favorite one in town.  He walks with an unchallenged swagger- although, deep down he’s broken- deep down, he’s just as anxious as me.  Deep down he knows this interlude is addressed to him.  But he hides,

he hides behind a false persona, and he expects me to laugh, like the rest of the folk we remain in sync with.  In town, I rarely see him.  There were phases, where, I did, on occasion, run in to him, walking up & down the hills (can you even call them that), where I’d run into him, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, his eyes darting from place to place, without any given pattern, or any specific subject. 

Unlike most however, I don’t look at him as just another funny guy.  Yes, he has a sense of humor- but that of course is not his defining quality.  He speaks out to me, whether he knows it or not.  His 15 year old boyish demeanor (even though his age in real life is far beyond those years) wins me over, the quirkiness and how he carries himself.  Bad posture.  No sense of time, and in addition- no sense of consequence? He’d argue this, that’s for sure, but I see it.  He may think things through, but he thinks things through for the moment, not for the future.  Whether or not he knows this- even with his wonderful qualities, and his pas desired ones, he is my other.  He knows me deep down.  His prose narrates it.  And I need him to realize, that I, yes, I, am his narrator, to this tragic tale, of life, love, death, and what’s to come next.

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