with certain sounds i find myself caught in a moment that i was in, 10 years ago. under the same sky, the same stars. i look at my hands, wishing for the same things as i did then. i am that same child, hopelessly lost, searching for answers that cannot be provided.
it's the same hopelessness compelling me to wish naught for the future, but to remember the past. and i do remember. my hands look the same. my breaths fall equally. my heart still beats. my blood still runs. my eyes still seek.
and i wonder why i continue to presently stand still- afraid of the past, afraid of the future. both are shackles- neither right, neither an option, but both an inevitability.
i look at my hands, clenching, unclenching. a constant in chaos. their grip might not be what i'd like it to be, but they do well to hold on. they've tried to capture all that i've wanted, missing many a thing when desire escapes me. perhaps it's better that way.
why is it that only the sound of roaring thunder and shattering rain ever makes me feel like i am real? why must there be forces greater than myself to move me? to remind myself that i am, apparently, alive?
why must i forget myself, to remember myself?
