Thursday, October 20, 2005
one grey day in the cemetery
When I look into my future too closely, it gets smaller. I see the handful of heartfelt statements, the milestone moments, counting the number of casualties. They are all a blur before they even happen. What if some of these things never happen and others happen at all? That occupies my mind, forcing me to get so close I can only see it in segments.
I see a commercial on tv and in a moment my life flashes before me: All of my dreams. my mortality, wondering if the people in my life really understand how much I love them.
Bad things could happen and will. It is too painful to imagine. Years go by lightening fast and before I know it my light will go out and I will cease to exist at all.
Will someone someday jog through the cemetery, reading aloud the names on the graves, as I did today?
"Harold Hartford Mackenzie", I read to my friends in a pretend stern voice. "He was a good man." They rolled their eyes, laughing. I continued,
"Do you think old Harold would have thought, 70 years after he died, that someone would speak his name?".
But does it matter? It does, I think, somehow.
It is my tendency. It ribbons through everything, this push-pull, grey-less place.
If I talk about it enough will I find a way to stand back?
Posted by Rachel at 9:43 PM