megara's lament

life has a way of happening at the most inconvenient times. you're leaving (running from) one idea; you stop briefly at (you flee to) another. then something like the truth manifests through your pores, beneath your finger nails, in the unreachable crevices of your mouth. what might be reality engulfs you and stays a while, and regardless of its intentions and its value, it becomes your reason to crack a joke, go on a walk, not sleep.

oh, but this makes it sound like a parasite, a metaphor in poor lighting. i suppose a simple approach is to view it like faith (the kind i used to have in God and country). i cannot sift it through my fingers and i doubt and question it constantly, but ultimately, i cannot deny its existence nor its consequence. the answer is the one to all of our futile questions, our excessive and selfish wonderings (the meaning of life): "it just is." The words itch like bugs across skin, unsatisfying, irritating, and undeniable. I can't really accept this answer, but I do. I can't really be feeling this, but I am. This can't really be practical, and it's not... it just is.

I'm not talking permanence, per se, but evenings that stretch on into red letter summers until time slows and i think about something else.

aw, time. that bitch. staying when she's never wanted; gone when you require her. lately, there hasn't been enough. and there will be even less time, soon. because "things" will get in the way. adult things. real things. things people do for a living. things that aren't the words megara used to sing before her children were slain and her heart sold and betrayed. i only hope that i, too, am not believing in the wrong heroes, deluding myself with the wrong myths.

still, perhaps even more frustrating than time is history. how we can't compete with it. i can know you for 4 more years; you will have existed for 24. I can run my hands through your hair 1,000 times; someone will have done it 1,001. Which is why you've seen me running so much, trying to catch up, spending every night sweaty and breathless so I don't have to realize that all this running has left me sweaty and breathless. I cannot compete with a world that existed before me, but I also can't help but envy it. I will never have you the way the world has; I will never know you the way those before me do. That I am so limited by time, so lacking in history, makes me wonder how I can ever allow it to be as it is with you or with anyone.

but it just is.