Ever miss the sound of someone's voice? I mean really miss it?
I'm not sure why, but I have been trapped in memory lane lately. The bittersweet pull of nostalgia. Confronting those haunting but useless questions... the 'what if's and the 'why's.
I'm honestly not sure why I've been strolling that lane as of late. Wandering wistfully, ruminating ad remembering.
My head knows better. I remind myself that everything unfolds just as it was destined to unfold, and that I would be better served forgetting this nonsense. Locking it up in the deeper recesses of the hall of records. Kiss it goodbye and never go looking for it again. It is the arc of the covenant in that military warehouse. File it and forget it. And fuck it!
Yet still my thoughts seem to wander.
And still I sigh, every now an again.
And look those 'what if's square in the face.
And stare down those 'why's, unable to blink, unable to back away.
Reminds me of music. Reminds me of song. These feelings too deep, and broad, and full for the written, for the spoken. This mysterious pull that lures me with the reminiscences of that voice. Always surprising--never exactly as I thought it was, or remembered it...
And so I muddle through, through the motions, through the routine. I continue on as if it is healed, pretending i don't know it is infected.
Last time I got like this I picked the scab.
just to feel the slightest ghost of what was. To hear that voice.
Not this time.
What would be the point?
And naturally I torture myself with the tantalizing question: do they ever feel this way? Do they ever pause and remember and long and sigh? Do the what ifs and the whys tug at their hem? Pull at their heartstrings, pervade their consciousness fromn time to time?
Oh, vanity. Oh, pride.
Reminds me of an exchange from one of my favorite plays.
"You never write"
"Because I thought you'd never answer."
"...I've spent every night walking every street in hell."
"That's odd; I never saw you there."
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