4-13-2013

The days pass and simple text files become tiles on my screen.

I can find endings for all of the stories that don't matter, and the one story that seems to have a clear ending I cannot bring myself to write the final word. I stutter and stumble over well worn roads. There is a map of this country before me. Disenfranchised nations warring within me. I look down and see the simplicity of the sides. Clear borders dividing chunks of me, bright primary colors contrasting vibrantly in order to delineate hydrophobic and hydrophilic entities within me.

There are polar opposites that exist within the limited expanse of my mind. Big concepts that cannot coexist peacefully, forced into tight spaces. Fit night and day seamlessly together so that bright and dark might just be synonyms. Because I can justify anything, it's just a matter of finding a good enough reason to not decide. To hold onto a state of flux and never ever let go and find a resolution. Not because I don't want to be at peace, but because I don't want peace if it means losing hope in an impossible dream. I want to paint a picture and mail it out. I want to write a story and send it. I want so much to just have that conversation. The kind of communication that leaves me so wrapped up in a moment that I never have to leave the beauty of that simple exchange.

So I look over at the semi-organized collection of remnants. I begin to plot out a message in items returned. Sculpting out a love letter in memories. The things I want to say have to do with creation and remembrance. I want her to feel just how much I care for her. I want to show how well I listened. Like this bag or box is a final exam, like it's my last best hope. I want to craft something. Then I realize these things are not terribly realistic. So I figure I'll just put the things I think she'll find useful in a box. I won't try and find meaning or force meaning for that matter. I won't become ensnared in the whys so as to be unable to act.