There's a disconnect, these days, of what really is enjoyable and what I think might be. It's deranged and waving at me, getting off on itself, and in the wind blowing across me so hard that I can't (possibly) sit still. It makes me think that everything is speaking to me, and whispering louder in my right ear when I move closer right and then back left to go to the next line. There's a pond beside me, with flying stuff, and noise, humming without sense. All of it might be the voice of our generation, and we're ignoring it. It has its way with us, anyway, willingly or not, until people start to disappear.
My apartment used to be a 25 minute walk to the other side of campus and now it's my house that takes the same time to walk to the Art Museum. There's no elevator, no three minute addition to get out of the room buried so back beneath the halls anymore-- I can just get up and go.
When I took my first walk to the Art Museum, I saw the backside, and couldn't make up my mind if that was it. I kept fixing my bangs as the wind blew in my mouth, just so that they could go all out of place as soon as I took away my hand. I steered towards the front steps, for unnecessary confirmation, and then there were the steps. I thought, how nice it is to walk alone to the Art Museum, and that I can walk alone, and that it's the same distance as it used to be to cross campus, and that I wonder who I might see, and that it might be nice to take someone here one day, on the walk, and do a straight-shot towards the back end, where there's a silent park along the river, because then I won't have to confirm, but, then the question of having to confirm won't come up, I won't mention it, with him, we might not check the front steps, and it'll take away from the naturalness, or where it was supposed to go, or be something to distract us, that isn't direct conversation, but necessary conversation, and I'm not sure we'll have enough to talk about anyway, he might find it weird how airily I stare at the trees, not realizing I'm just saying hi again! Or, not caring to know, because I'm not so sure it would be so nice to walk with someone else, around here, or what we'd talk about, or if we'd ever find the silence, and I'm not sure, that it is really so nice to walk around myself, either, or that I am really, even truthfully enjoying it.
I've forgotten how to let myself cry. And when I go to sit down by the river, I still think that it might be someone, and the wind is blowing me, or that Philly might hold promise like Paris except there's an American flag on a pole near the river. And it's hard because I think that things might finally fall into place once I just give up, but I can't get myself to actually do it. I'm hanging on by a thread. A pretty little thread. Thin and full of sunlight, like a hair, hitting me in the head, shining over me like paste, maybe telling me that I'm so special but I can't seem to do that either-- believe it. I wonder who the voice of the generation is and if she hurts and how bad and where and if she wants to talk about it and I'm already thinking of what to say that might help but I know that I'll follow it with "I know it is a lot easier said than done, and it takes time to truly believe it." And I just want to cry for her so that she doesn't have to and try to remember that he'll be back but he probably won't in this life and graduating college means I'm free and the person across from me (I think I've seen her before but only now) can probably tell that I can't cry from how low my face hangs and how deep my breath sags and the power of the wind on my weak knees I keep swatting for bugs but I have finally just given them to the ground and let them fall out of me and welcomed the bugs into my jean shorts, hanging open with gravity, and I saw one that was speckled, with the same exact blue, and wonder if I shouldn't have swatted it when it was only trying to blend in. (It's living as much as I am.) It all seems to bother me. And then there's these yellow flowers or leaves at the top of the highest tree, and when I try to take a picture of them, they dissolve, and the light folds over me, taking it all away again. But I don't want people to know where I am. So I don't really know why I'm doing it.