September 4: Oeillade

I chastise myself for dwelling on the
inevitable, for loneliness plays upon my
wounds before they heal. The bandages

wear thin with the constant flow of
images, past and new experiences, most
real, some imagined but all embellished

with roses. Futilely, I cling to what
I know is already gone, or mostly gone,
and will be forgotten when the last

sand falls. The grains are already
counted and echo with their rapid
descent, until I can only hear the

tic toc tic of my heart. Will you
think of me afterwards as the weight
around your legs that caused you to

stumble in time? Or will you view me
in some dark, private cubicle, inserting
a quarter for a glimpse of the past, and

see me dancing in slow rhythms before you?

I wonder some days about the people in my life and how long of a time frame we have together. I’ve lived long enough to see many people come and go. Maybe by moving away. Or growing apart. Or dying. I’m reminded this week of the ebb and flow of life and how, no matter what we desire, some things don’t happen the way we anticipate. And that can be frustrating or maddening or disappointing or heartbreaking. It’s not easy giving up on expectations, but I’ve come to the conclusion, as I’ve mentioned in other posts, that often it’s necessary. Especially when it comes to other people. Instead, I’m thankful to be reminded that what I need to focus on is what their impact may be in my life and what mine may be to theirs. And try to be someone whose presence made a positive difference; someone worth remembering.

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