To believe in the future…
You must first believe in time as a linear construct.
Personally, I find time to be one giant fabricated illusion.
It simply does not sit right with my cognitive processing and comprehension.
My brain doesn’t remember things by the obtuse angle of a clocks hand, nor does it remember things by the number of the year humans have claimed earth as their own, or the name of a mere 24 hours out of infinity.
I remember things by what fruit was in season, what length my hair was, what boy I was stealing kisses from over afternoon tea. Whether I was sad, or lonely, or manic, or whole.
So you see, with my unique brain wiring, it’s hard to think of a linear future when I can’t even construct a past.
I would like to say in future I will find whatever it is I am looking for. Whatever it is the universe has hidden from me, until the golden moment, and the stars will align, and I will be whole again. These moments are warm, and I hold them in the same palm that I hold the sun.
Perhaps in future I will always continue to search for it. Under stones, in cobwebs, amongst the salty breeze, at the bottom of a glass of red wine.
And perhaps I will never find it, but learn that it is not about the pirate’s treasure, it is about the path he takes on the map to find it.
Or perhaps I will feel lost for eternity. Standing on a bridge, watching yourself go by, wondering if you are the you that you’re watching, the you that you’re being, or the bridge that you’re standing on. Better yet, the you that’s died and is existing through only memories. I liken these moments to the starry night, seen too many times with eyes blurred from despair. Moments where you’re aware of the inevitable rot of your insides. These are the days of decay.
I would like to say that the concept of a future does not frighten me, but I would be lying, and I learned this stone-fruit season when my hair was long and golden that lying only keeps you awake at night. Specifically the starry ones.
The future is an enigma and every moment and every breath I fear that The Great Nothing will swallow me whole. Rot. Decay. Exist only in the void.
But then I remember the warm, calloused palm of the void caressing my left cheek. The void is familiar and enthralling, and only what you make of it.
I have met a God in the void just as many times as I have wandered the back rooms looking for the exit.
The future is a peak hour train and I have missed it because I was distracted by the sound things make when the sun hits them.
But I don’t mind.
I’d rather walk.Return to issues