of course it's strange the course that emotions take. at first they seem to maul you, and you loose yourself entirely in them, you're immersed in them, but they are far to hot to touch. and then after a while, they cool and you pick them up and observe them, you give them names, reasons for being and you organise them. but now i feel like they're just dragging on... after the passion, where does it go now? is everything going to stay in this frozen state forever? they no longer shock me any more, will they become part of the mundane reality of my life? i now enter the long drag - look at that road stretching to the horizon. theres still no signs of hills.
i don't tell anyone that the tepid air is getting me down, the mess on the table, the crumpled pillows. (that is, i do declare often "i'm restless!" but no one ever takes any notice, i sometimes wonder if i spoke at all). days in advance i plan a mini escape. nothing so swift as those birds that just pierced the sky like a needle, but something soft. i change my trousers, put on my boots and my coat, in my bag i put my phone, my key, a letter to reread or an old letter and a pad and a pen to reply. i walk downstairs and i announce "i'm going for a walk". i say "i have my phone". i say "i'll be back in 3 hours". i say "i'm going to the woods" even though i'm not. i do this quickly before anyone can stop me. i do it when sunday afternoon is settling in like a mist and everyone has already breathed too much of it to be quick enough or sprightly enough to offer to come with me. i step out the door and slam it behind me, feel the cool air. i shove my hands in my pockets and look like i have somewhere to go. i try to convince myself that this is worth it, that this is a real escape, that i'm not just treading the same roads i have done millions of times before. i do this not because i ever get anywhere and not because this is in any way a substitute for what i really want (to go to new places with someone i like) but because if i didn't do it i think i'd simply die. the same old roads and the same old hedges, the same dull sky and half-hearted rain, but at least it's something, at least it's wind in my face, at least i can watch those crows fly. not enough to save me, but just enough to keep my from quite falling over the brink.
2 Comments:
!PP
"emotions... far too hot to touch." Now there is a very compelling image! I liked your portrayal of your feelings here, Captain, for emotions are such a difficult thing to squeeze out through the pencil in some meaningful manner that isn't glib, matter-of-fact or over-done.
And still no signs of hills, aye? Could there be some purpose in your present situation, restricted to the plains?
I enjoyed very much your recounting of your mini escape. The repetition employed is quite hypnotic, and very powerful. It definitely reflects the underlying melancholic mood and I can identify with its tone so very much. I would love to see it in verse form. Is that possible?
But you haven't written it to be critiqued by the likes of me, and I shall always keep that in mind. I suppose I am sharing with you about how your words touch my being, on both an experiential level and a literary level. And such is my response. I hope, therefore, that I will never offend you by commenting on something you have written on purely a literary level. If I do respond in such a manner please appreciate that I do not ignore that you share from your heart and what you write is way more than just an interesting page of words.
You always brighten my day and make me think.
!PPeter
pete,
i must say i do find it interesting that you tend to comment on my posts in a literary manner, as they are most definitely not written that way. the way i write this blog i think is just my way of trying to portray as accurately as possible what has happened to me, more often than not (strangely enough) this involves saying something different to what actually happened, at least not in plain terms. i never thought i had much of a passion for metaphor before you began to talk about the way i wrote! and no, i don't mind on the way i write things rather than what i write, as whilst often my posts are about what i am going through emotionally, i do not post here in order to get help or sympathy from other people, nor do i really expect anyone to understand what i am talking about! and i always enjoy reading your comments, it's so useful to get distance from what you have written yourself, by reading what someone else says on the matter.
hills are... forming. it's strange what the post can bring. perhaps all that was needed was a little honesty and courage. or maybe not... it hasn't yet quite been worked out.
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