Sunsets and rain. That’s been our uncharacteristic summer. Day by day remains the same. The usual monotonous work. The exhausting heat. The suffocating humidity. And then rain. Rain is said to have cleansing, rejuvenating properties. And at the same time rain represents a feeling of despair and sorrow. So which is it here.
For me, I’d say it is intended as both. Old things fading away. Becoming further estranged from the things of my past. And at the same time. Despair for that. I’m told I’m to blame. That the transition from adolescence to adulthood can be a shock to anyone unaccepting. That all of my reveries are impractical an nostalgic. They say living in the past is a waste and won’t get you anywhere. But they also say time is cyclical. Running the round track as it where. So tell me then. What is the point of moving forward only to return to the point from whence you began? Get on with your live. Find new friends. New lovers. .. What if I want my old friends and old lovers? You say people change. I’ve changed. You’ve changed. Everyone’s changed. But love doesn’t change. One thing I’ve learned is that it’s all just recurring events. I find new friends. A new lover. We get to know each other. We go through all the stages. You slowly learn. All there is to know. And then it ends. They move on with their life and I’m stuck here in my own Groundhog Day. So why continue to lie to myself. Why continue to be hurt over something that I didn’t want in the first place. Should I not believe that there is some reason it keeps coming back to this? And you’re right. There is no hope. I know that. You know that. Everyone knows that. Too late is too late. But. This place is safe. Just because you left and locked the door behind you doesn’t mean I have to. I can stay right here as long as I’d like. Looking out at the world through my little window. You’re the foolish one. Not me. You’re the one who lied to yourself. Not me.
Bukowski said “It’s possible to love a human being if you don’t know them too well.” And ain’t it the truth. But true love comes in loving them despite all that you know. Love through the imperfections. The flaws. The fights and disagreements and arguments and impasses. That is what love is. It overcomes all these things. Not complains because things have changed. Things can change. But love is love.
“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.”
Maybe I have this cocoon for a reason. Maybe I’m unable to break out because my metamorphosis is incomplete. Maybe there is something yet to be learned. Yes. One day. I’m going to move on. I’m going to leave this place. I’m going to slam the door behind me. And you’re going to feel it. And whether you admit it, I know you’ll be sad. But you’ve made your choices more than obvious. And you may deserve more than you got. But it’s what you chose. And you’ll just have to live with that. You don’t get both.
I may just be the seasonal rain for most people. I may just be used to help them cleanse their life and get through their hard times. But atleast when it’s over they let me go. And I move on. At this point I try not to get attached. I know how the story ends. I’m just a doctor. I’m here until they’re well and then they move on and someone else reaps the rewards. I try to mend souls. And perhaps my self defeating acceptance of this comes as an attempt of penance for feeling like I broke yours. Perhaps not. Either way. The rain still falls. It washes old things away. And new life will spring forth from the ground. And no one can stop that. And I’ll just move on with it. As Thoreau said “There is no remedy for love but to love more.” So that’s just what I’ll do.
Some days you’re the dirt. Some days you’re the rain. And some days you’re the flower.
And In the spirit of over quoting. (Since it’s just one of those days) Let us sum it all up with the following:
Since Bukowski also said “An intellectual says a simple thing in a hard way. An artist says a hard thing in a simple way.” Let me give you the words of an artist. The immortal, late, great, wise poet, Tupac.
“You can spend minutes, hours, days, weeks, or even months over-analyzing a situation; trying to put the pieces together, justifying what could’ve, would’ve happened… or you can just leave the pieces on the floor and move the fuck on.”