More Than…

There are a few remaining rays of August sunshine left and I’m sitting with my back to the window, letting myself soak it all in. I don’t do that enough. Soak things in, I mean. When I read books, I feel like I’m sometimes too motivated by needing to know what happens that I don’t savor every word, sentence, paragraph. And when I eat, I feel like I want to try everything, so I chew quickly, so that nothing runs out before I’ve had the chance. And when I walk, I stride with purpose, propelled forward by some invisible force. 

I don’t know why I am the way I am or how these patterns developed. I guess some of them were passed down from childhood, and others picked up from people I’ve met, and others somehow pressed upon me from society or circumstances I found myself in. 

Anyway, it’s kinda crazy to find yourself twenty-eight years old, looking in the mirror and not even recognizing the reflection gazing back at you. Like somehow, you just became bits and pieces of other people and some core part of you got stomped out, or lost, or buried underneath different layers. You don’t even know what to call it or what it looks like, you just know that something’s missing, that you don’t feel fully whole. Like you’re just some shell or shadow that once was, or some idea that could be. 

And so you find yourself crying at the kitchen table, longing for the person you used to be and yearning for the person you want to be, not knowing who you are in the present. You just know that you’re more than molecules, flesh, blood, bones. But who? 

You think back to when you were a little kid. Everything was simpler then, everything was pure. And all those dusty dreams you had are different now or don’t matter to you in the same way they did before. So you’re grieving the loss of some former ghost of yourself and dismantling the identity you thought defined you. 

You finish your cold tea; you listen to Rodriguez sing Silver Words. You feel your heart beat a little faster and take a deep breath. It’s like a rebirth, I suppose. Only this time, you don’t need your parents or your friends, or any other outside influence to accompany you. It’s just you.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s