I wanted to say I miss you.
But to say I miss you would be to imagine the journey as a short trip to the shop for three eggs and a cigarette. To make it look like something that happened casually, somewhere between trying to live slow and die fast. Even that might be an overstatement of the fact that I was hungry at the time I wanted to say I miss you.
There’s a sacredness in Saturday morning. At this time I’d rather be seated here at my desk having the eggs that I bought earlier and writing than anything else. I was raised to set aside a day purely for the cleansing of the soul. Lorde reminds us that self care is warfare. This is okay because I still remember that there are ways to live through the steps of fear that we feel in our mind, even when our feet are frozen to the ground.
And if our feet are frozen to the ground how then can I describe a journey that went as far as the heart shaped crater on the edge of pluto? How then can it be simply beginning to think through and observe all the trinkets that were picked up along the way? Unpacking is heavy. Unpacking is always heavy. And when the things we have carried around lay themselves bare on the ground to be watched one of two things happen. Either we are made by them and begin the path of leaving them behind or, embarrassed, (they might be too big or too small, too fragile, too impossible, too much, too little too anything) we quickly pack them back and carry them along.
The problem then becomes when you have learned the science of unpacking. Of holding each and everything inside your bag up to the light and considering whether it is worth taking on the journey. And then each act of unpacking becomes a journey. A re-imagining. Is memory something we have? Or is it a shred of time torn from the fabric and carried along?
Say there is only enough space for everything. And, if there is only space for everything, then everything must then be within this space (simple science). What happens when something is removed from the space. How do we fill the gaps? How do we get cross them?
Say infront of you there was a lake. Say you knew how to cross it –or you didn’t. Would you go for it? Or would you jump, hoping the arms of fate would catch you?
So you start unpacking, trying to figure out what you can leave behind to make this time better than the last. To make this time somewhat easier. As if somehow the work of swimming in the lake is only for those who are yet to drown.
I wanted to say I miss you. Instead I sat on the shore, wondering what to leave behind.