Lacuna

  I was feeling down this morning and it reminded me of this blog. I decided to visit it. I do this from time to time. Whenever the nostalgia hits me or whenever I start feeling like I'm enough of a stranger to myself to see things a little differently. I find that I discover a bit more about myself every time I look into the pages of my older writing. It is in reading my own words that I can finally gain that small bit of self-awareness. Something that I'm sorely lacking.

  I thought that it would bring me comfort or at least a nice little bit of distraction from all that's been happening in these past few days. I'm not one to complain without first trying to make a joke about it but it's hard when you keep failing. Especially when those failures cost you more than your time and effort.
 
 Going through the blog some dramatic part of me expected cobwebs and yellowed dusty pages but blogs don't age that way. Its been years since I've sought shelter here. This place hasn't changed one bit in my absence. Preserved as it was when I made it and wrote in it.

  I find that the only thing that has changed here is me. I have forgotten what it feels like to blog. None of this is familiar. My visits, short and infrequent, never gave me the sense of being who I was back then. Even now I don't feel like that boy. The boy who was trying to work out the parts of his life he didn't understand through writing, all the while unable to speak with any clear voice (you can see this, you can see the strangled thoughts in those posts so sparse and so aimless). Although, I know that boy hasn't left me. He occupies a space inside me. A space I may not be able to access but I can definitely examine. And when I go back and look at things I made and then left behind that's all I can ask for I suppose, lessons and a new way of seeing things.






"...and this card,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see."







Listening to -