Wednesday, December 9, 2015

and I've only got my brittle bones to break the fall

Lady, running down to the riptide
taken away to the dark side

So what's the upshot of all this? Introspection, contemplation, depression, desperation. Strip-mining the past to relearn what I knew then. Seeing if it changes who I am now. Is this a good thing?

Or does it just obscure my path?

I love you when you're singing that song and
I got a lump in my throat 'cause
you're gonna sing the words wrong

Maybe it's less about what I knew, and more about what I didn't see. Maybe it's more about what I missed at the time, instead of what I clearly understood. Maybe my understanding was never that clear in the first place.

and she's been living on the highest shelf

And now I'm questioning the things I need to question, have needed to question, as well as everything else, and I think it's just making me weaker, not stronger.

I just wanna, I just wanna know
if you're gonna, if you're gonna stay

Some things are clear. Some things are fixed. Some things I know with absolute, unshakable certainty. The problem is, those things--those clear, solid absolutes--no longer matter.

we made ourselves home out of our dreams
brought with us this love now bittersweet

And I am beyond tired, edging far past exhausted, with rebuilding. But obviously, my foundations are not yet stable. So we start again. New materials, or old ones, but I must be careful this time--nothing in the structure that, when broken, will cause more pain. Because there is that in me which causes fracture at the heart of things, so my beginnings must be clean, my building must be true.

and for all this pantomime
you should see the state I'm in
I couldn't heal myself with time alone

Nostalgia is a poison.

these walls, they whisper secrets and memories thereof
this door no longer leads us to their love

But I have played Sebastian of the arrows before, though with far less effort. Perhaps it's finally time to realize that arrows are bad for me, and move on. It's never been my choice, but maybe it's time for that, too. My decisions. My choices. My path through the fog.

We'll see how it goes.

(Lyric selections are from "Riptide" by Vance Joy, and Poets of the Fall's "Skin".)

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