Black
We remember when we made the world. We remember the sun. Now, only this cave... rotten meat, long sucked dry – and we had to fight hard to get it. You have barely lived, not long at all. Still, everything...do you even understand what that means?
How can you conceive of it without being crushed by the weight?"
The year came, and I put myself together. Tiny pieces were all I could see then; a puzzle I took near 12 months to solve. The year goes, and I take myself apart. To reorganize, to clean the pieces, and maybe to sit and stare at the beauty of them for a while.
The chill pause between now and winter. Where loss, end, and death beg awareness. It's my favourite time of year, the most important to me. It's when I truly feel depressed, drained, sad and weak. Hopeless.
A lot has been born this year, and a lot has died. Symbols of my adolescence rotting away, things that were as much a part of my life as anything. Friendships, in their ways, drifting. Dry cobwebs in the corner of my cave.
I consider every year why I need to feel this way, and I haven't ever come up with a complete answer. To remember what kind of things I've survived, partly. To understand the things I try so hard to heal, definitely. But there is more to it, something about the low that defines me and makes me whole.
Happy New Year, maybe. But not yet.
Currently Listening To: A Perfect Circle, Bjork, Evanescence, Korn, NIN, Shakespeare In Hell, The Cruxshadows, The Tea Party, VAST...