THE DAY: May 24, 2007.
THE TIME: 12:14 AM
THE MUSIC: Casmir Pulaski Day; By Sufjan Stevens
THE MOMENT: A rush of being alive.
Once upon a time, my family moved around a lot.
For a while after I came home, I avoided the old houses.
Tonight, I drove by them.
And not because I knew I could handle it.
And not because I was curious.
Because I was looking for something...
There were lights on in the living rooms, faint glows behind windows that no longer connected me to the world that surrounds.
There were new cars in the driveways.
There were no bikes or skates in the yards.
There were manicured flowers over mulch instead of resilient trampled pansies and crunchy pine needles.
There were lot of fences.
There were no frog shaped stepping stones.
At the first house there was a crepe myrtle tree. My Mom used to show me pictures on the computer of what it would look like when it grew bigger.
Her tree is taller now.
I did not feel like it remembered me.
I spiraled around the coldesacs. I heard a lot of my old Dad. I saw a lot of my past self. I tried to seperate all the time and space. I searched for what I was supposed to feel.
I've yet to find it.
THE TIME: 12:14 AM
THE MUSIC: Casmir Pulaski Day; By Sufjan Stevens
THE MOMENT: A rush of being alive.
Once upon a time, my family moved around a lot.
For a while after I came home, I avoided the old houses.
Tonight, I drove by them.
And not because I knew I could handle it.
And not because I was curious.
Because I was looking for something...
There were lights on in the living rooms, faint glows behind windows that no longer connected me to the world that surrounds.
There were new cars in the driveways.
There were no bikes or skates in the yards.
There were manicured flowers over mulch instead of resilient trampled pansies and crunchy pine needles.
There were lot of fences.
There were no frog shaped stepping stones.
At the first house there was a crepe myrtle tree. My Mom used to show me pictures on the computer of what it would look like when it grew bigger.
Her tree is taller now.
I did not feel like it remembered me.
I spiraled around the coldesacs. I heard a lot of my old Dad. I saw a lot of my past self. I tried to seperate all the time and space. I searched for what I was supposed to feel.
I've yet to find it.
"I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers."
--Sylvia Plath (from Mirror)
1 comment:
Lyndsi Shae your hearts story enchants me!
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