It’s 2am, and for the first time in weeks you open your WordPress app to write something. Anything. It’s not that you weren’t writing. Heaven knows, you were. You want to say life has been happening, and indeed it has -a whole lot is different now- but that doesn’t make much sense. If you really think about it anyway. If you don’t, it’s valid.
So it’s 2am and you don’t feel like hiding behind Teju Cole anymore. You listen to Rudy, he always knows what to say. He says you are alive and you gotta act like it. Funny. For some seconds today, you were in love with the feeling of being alive. It feels good. You envy people who always feel that way. Imagine you could hold some feelings by the edges, stretch them on for as long as you wanted…what does it mean to have an elastic heart?
But there’s this song. Music is nostalgic. There are songs for seasons in your life. Listening to old songs brings them back. Sometimes, it’s a good thing. For the most part, it feels like that elastic heart. Except this time, it’s overly stretched and about to break. And elastic bands don’t break neatly. Somebody has to get hurt.
It’s 18 past 2. You are drank on nostalgia and choking on life. You’ll laugh. That’s what they say. That you look back one day and cringe at the things you wrote on the edge of sobriety. But it shouldn’t bother you. At least I don’t think it should. You have to laugh at the foolishness of your youth. It’s part of the process. Which process I wouldn’t dare name. Nomenclature destroys the abstract kind of hope that someday, one day, you will figure it out. Do you ever think that maybe you won’t? That you’ll have to just…..go through life. Stop trying to figure it out. Take one day at a time, whatever that means. And maybe, just maybe, look at the small picture.
But it’s 2am. You listen to the song and feel nothing. You read the words and will them to mean something, anything. But they stare back at you, almost in mockery. They probably throw their heads back and laugh. You writers like to manipulate them. Not today. They clink their glasses and drink to their youth. Ah, well. You join them and pat yourself on the back. You tried, you tried.
*Ceasefire ¤ for KING & COUNTRY*