spill-over

i've been trying really hard to be unreflective for a while.

not in the sense that i absorb all light that falls upon me, although that would be fun...

i haven't written, or created any art, or taken any pictures at events where one typically takes pictures. i haven't done any of these things, because i haven't wanted to think about my life. i already play the observer, all on my own, all the time. i don't want to put any more distance between myself and my actions. i don't want a pad and paper between me and my thoughts, i don't want oil pastels between me and my emotions, and i don't want a camera lens between me and the reality of experience.

my life is completely undocumented, at least by me, right now.

but actually, recently, the past couple of weeks... there's been too much. my brain is so overly full, of these things that i so desperately want to share... and right now, i'm spending a week with a college friend while he graduates, and i mark my five year reunion. also, i've sort of harbored an extreme love for this friend for almost nine years. it has pretty much been unrequited. but i'm here now. and well... i'm here.

i'm here, and we're sleeping in the same bed, but we aren't touching. and we're sharing conversation, but we aren't quite talking. and i'm finding that i'm almost the me who used to love him so much, that i came back, multiple times, after being rebuffed, with the full intention of being platonic friends, even though it might be incredibly painful for me. i'm almost the me that thought that there was nothing beyond him, and that i would drop whoever might be in my life, at any time, if he called me up and said, "i love you. i've been a fool. let's make this work."

i'm almost that person that i used to be.

my life is full of ghosts. or maybe i'm a ghost. i come back to these people and situations that i've photocopied and stored in my mind, and held on to for years. i come back to them, and the people and places have changed and grown (or shrunk, as the case may be) and i've changed too (and maybe grown) and the photocopies are really just subjective memories of how the past seemed.

i come back, and nothing else is quite there. or everything is there, but i've faded. part of me is held in check, away from the rest of the world.

whole lives have been lived and lost. the person i was has yielded so that the person i am can come forward. stories have begun and arced, and come back to rest, finished, needing an epilogue and a note from the author.

i am filled with this tremendous sense of loss, at the same time that i can sense the seeds of future possibilities whispering in my dark. i feel locked out of old stories, but comfortable with my otherness.

i regret the loss of who i was, but mostly as it pertains to the loss of those tidal feelings. i don't know if i'll ever have them again for anyone or anything, or if i'll let myself have them again. they frighten me, but at the same time, if i were never lifted by that swell again; if i never was propelled screaming forward, driven by parts of me that will not be controlled or contained, i would question whether my living was a worthwhile endeavor.

i want to feel like that again.

but perhaps this part of my life, can truly be over now. perhaps closure is what i've been seeking, and i'm in the right place to achieve it.

or i might just want an excuse to shut a few doors, and travel on alone, out of perceived necessity, since i won't do it by choice, even if its what's necessary.

i don't know what it is.

but i suppose i'll get back to living it now.