sea of change

But to never punish yourself for your inability to open your fist and throw into the sea the dismembered shells, damp mud, twisted twigs, shards of heartbroken moon, rust eaten ships that will never sail again, unresolved rhyme schemes of incomplete poems, memories so out of context that you feel you can put a frame around them and gift a stranger you’ll never call back, because we’re living in the past, all of us. There’s only one intimacy we can truly claim to have enjoyed, if at all, which is that of the past, like newborn authors, always pouring out their lives into their works, almost on the verge of writing autobiographies, almost telling everything at once; because there’s never going to be a ‘what’s next’, but only ‘I remember’

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s