There’s a blissful sinking when I recall all the peaceful moments I’ve acquired with people that are no longer present in my day to day.
Often people come to me and express sadness for those they have recently lost. I try to tell them that the memories they hold are theirs alone. Even if you are quickly replaced, the first touch of hands, the breaths of air when you find yourself awake next to them are always yours. Never to be replicated exactly the same again.
Often, I trip over simple recollections that appear like raised pavement on a daily commute. My arms grow limp and heavy against the weight of my ever present solitude and I wonder if I can ever really remedy it. Maybe I’m too stubborn and set in this. I feel this oneness as you would an echo in an empty room. At times, I can’t imagine giving up the feeling of waves against my skin. Afraid that if another stood next to me that I wouldn’t feel it anymore. The pang of longing for something or someone that comes with a few glasses of wine. That seems like such a profound feeling and I almost revel in it. It’s the closest to enlightenment I’ve ever been.
