days like months, months like years
I keep picturing you with sad eyes. Sad eyes and a far away look. I have no idea if this is accurate as I am totally and completely cut off from you. I said I wouldn’t write this kind of thing anymore, but I was struck by the need to make a record of this moment. I have hope it will be a history of us, but if nothing else it will be a history of me. And I think looking back and remembering my feelings at this moment will be important to my future self. I just wonder if there will grow a disconnect between me now and me then. Like when I look at pictures of myself from my childhood and it feels almost as if I am looking at the life of someone else. Some other unhappily happy child who is trying to find balance between the magic he feels inside and the turmoil his reality has become. I hope not. I hope that the feelings remain. I hope that I can grasp your hand and smile at how foolish we were in this present. How we kept ourselves apart while everything else was waiting not so patiently for us to give in and accept the inevitable.
But for now, this now I am slogging through, there is nothing but an abundance of time that seems to be never ending. And this is the feeling I wanted to jot down. How the tick of the clock is both my enemy and my friend. How the rise and set of the sun is both my enemy and my friend. How I am marking days off the calendar like a prisoner awaiting the day he can walk free from his cell.
Yes. I needed to make a record of this.
So here is the record of the time that days felt like months, and months felt like years.