Thursday, November 8, 2012

Journal: Entry 1.

It hurts more to see the past in lively motion, 
not just a photo 
or from passive memory- 
but from a flickering film;
life looks forward
through the frame 

and not regret,
but shame
clouds into my blood.

Feelings I've long since felt,
feelings I've done my best to compact and bury,


resurface

and, for a moment,

I feel terribly, blindingly
whole.

Friday, November 2, 2012

Afterthought


There is something irresistable
about loving an idea and only and idea.

We are captivated by the past 
and the paths that we never walked.

Sometimes, without knowing, head wins over heart
and we watch passively, as 
love fades 
and reality grows.
We will love as we are expected to 
we will think about the hard fought dreams
of our youth's persistence 
as if they were only the fanciful, 
flickering, frames 
of someone else's home movie.

We all sit in the dark sometimes,
contemplating the features within the shadow of a face 
not yet illuminated in our foyers mirror.

There,
below,
in a porcelain tray
are the keys to cars and 
houses, alongside
the invitations to relatives' weddings 
and birthday parties for neighbors' children-
a whole reality never once dreamt as a child,

an unwelcome truth,

a bitter pill tasting eerily similar to the taste in the back of our mouths
when the first step down the wrong avenue was taken

Staring back in every reflection is the dark outline 
of someone,
perhaps,
we should have been.

When did we lose ourselves 
to the other side of the mirror?