Good evening dearest readers. It has been so long since my last post! Between school work and exams and the forever dreaded writer’s block, my absence has been a special gift from hell, aye? So glad to be back and I’m hoping to finally be able to get writing on a schedule again (maybe I’ll write a post about that later … maybe.) and actually post more consistently. But no promises. Life likes to throw curve balls.
The days were getting longer. She was well aware that the days weren’t actually getting longer, that she was just getting tired. She thought it was interesting, how often we pin the blame of our own exhaustion, of our pain, on some immense and unmovable entity that had no real effect on our own exhaustion or pain. She thought we were all silly that way. Thought. Thought being the past tense of think, because she isn’t currently thinking about us. Actually, she won’t ever think about us ever again. But she thought. A girl in the past, a ghost of a girl currently lingering in my laptop and between the firing neurons in my brain. I sip my tea, made just the way she liked it (liked being the past tense of like because she isn’t currently liking), with no sugar and steeped two minutes too long because she liked her tea bitter. Though now that I think about it, I think she did it to be contrary. She was (was being the past tense of is, because she is no longer being) that way. She enjoyed being contrary. It gave her a certain alluring flair to her very style of existing, because that’s just the way she was.
She rarely talked aloud, though she chatted- no, she conversed often online. She had (had being the past tense of have, because she no longer has this quality) a unique ability to make any online conversation somehow exist in an impartial third dimension where we weren’t limited by the constraints of face-to-face communication nor the constraints of online chatting. She made it seem real, tangible almost, as if I stretched out my arms, I could brush the infinite walls of our little pocket in space. She had a fondness for long, elaborate conversations that could easily bore someone who did not find themselves fascinated by the unfathomable depths of the universe.
A galaxy of possibility and she saw all of it. I envy her (envy, present tense, because I still envy her) and her ability to fish possibilities out of thin air, making them appear between her fingers like a magician’s trick, but somehow more magical.
My therapist says (interesting because said is past tense, but says implies the present, yet my therapist spoke in the past by this point) that my obsession with tense, with time and its ever present progression, will slowly ease as I begin to cope and get back in touch with the “real world”. She says that this is my mind’s way of protecting me from a harsh reality that I can’t bear to cope with yet (cope is almost always used in the present tense, as if coping is a continuous action that never ends, hence its lack of usage in the past tense).
I think (think being present tense; I still think, I am thinking) that she is wrong. You made me so much more aware, you made me- no, forced me to open my eyes and they won’t close now, not with the brilliance surrounding me like a thousand dying stars. You gave (gave being past tense; you’ll never give anything to me again, not even your name which I never knew) me the key into your world of unmeasurable possibility and my god, it is beautiful (is beautiful, because it has never ceased being beautiful, even though that you are not longer an “is” but instead a “was”).
I am lost (lost, present tense; I am lost, I continue to be lost). I am adrift in a vast sea full of the dangling possibilities and the hidden traps that you navigated with ease, because you were never afraid. I think that it’s because you weren’t afraid of being lost. You seemed apathetic about death (seemed, past tense; you are no longer apathetic, you are just dead); life was something that came in passing moments, not something to be counted on. You so often strayed the thin, fuzzy line between life and death that it surprised me you were never full of the knowledge of heaven and hell. But dear god, look at me? I’m a mess.
Rambling away at thin air as if talking to the very universe might make it so you can hear me. Can you hear me? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.