the places, the points in time in which we find ourselves can be so ironic sometimes like they were lost or discarded, cast aside to be picked up at a later point like an aging book, dust blown from the cover, pages creaked open, highlighted passages faded with forgetfulness yet expected to turn with the ease and grace of a freshly printed page.
every passing hour, an orchestrated dance and a drunken, fumbling, ill-timed cadence. life just moves, you guys, it just keeps on spinning madly past. caught up in the whirling moments, the frenetic winds, life pulsates and breathes and beats.
brad does not.
constantly, pressingly, urgently so is the consideration of how one might find peace within in a chaotic world and the universal balance of existing in a peaceful world with a chaotic interior. how might I slow down a writhing interior force, a wound ball of inner passion, outer pleasantries, and devastating loss that must be expressed in some way, but is accepted in none.
as I write these words I absentmindedly reach for my cup of tea of which there is none. a constant companion of late, of warmth, a soothing of ritualistic tears, dissolving heart in throat, calming panic and fear.
I'd be lying to say he's the only thing on my mind, days when work and class and business occupy every potential of thought, pushing aside a tiny bit of space for marriage and friendships and social interactions. at the risk of sounding something, an honest thought is this :: I am disappointed that the people I have met in this season of my life have met me at this season in my life. I have nothing to offer new relationships these days, hell -- old ones too, little strength to converse in a way that is fulfilling, inspiring, worth the time it takes to introduce myself. as if my ears are plugged with suffering, self pity. this will pass, yes? as if we all can hope.
my heart breaks for the future of those kids. young, young kids that can sit in a room and watch a young boy die, know there is serious trouble, react out of fear, and allow my baby brother to be swept from this world without so much as a call for help. I am simultaneously overcome daily with anger and sadness and pity, would I embrace them or the last moments of his life that they were given the privilege to witness, to sit by his side, of experiencing his escape, his transition into death, and no one reached for him, his hands remained clasped, no human contact to usher him in.
I'm so sorry you were alone.
I'm so sorry you were alone.
