Another Passage

In time, there will be more to say. The light will come back on inside, and the fire might even burn brightly for a while. The smoke and ash will clear away from this last time. The haze of detrimental infatuation will fade away. Life might even seem soft and comfortable.

Until then, what I have is a big pile of words that no one really wants to hear. There are the words I've already said a thousand times. There are the things that appear only in private. There are broken snapshots of times that were better, but long gone. It's loneliness again, for now.

Though I attempt to keep the best of things in mind, often all that I can concentrate on are the things that are so broken there is little hope for replacement and less for repair. I see the world isn't getting better. There is no steady climb up into a better world for everyone. Sometimes, we stumble into something great, but more often, I find us creating huge mud pits of despair for too many people.

I'm angry that I have to live with all of this. I'm angry that my own life doesn't progress, either.

Circle, circle, round, round, circle round, circle round.

It all just keeps repeating. The old chant once used for focus on bettering things now just comes to mind when life is repeating its stale and numb patterns at me. I seem to find that chant creeping up on me a lot, just not for anything good. It's just a reminder that life keeps going, and the changes are not always good.

An illusion of my past haunts me. It's the eve of a new cycle. The day in between living and dying is upon us. It doesn't mean anything now. Not that it meant much before. Just an excitement born in my childhood that I embraced. Especially when my peers and some adults were accusing me of Satanism. Call it reclamation. Call it rebellion. Call it Blugritin. I don't fucking care. The day had a feeling about it that I loved. I never let that go. I just can't assign anything bigger to it. It's just a day that makes sense to me.

We live. We die. We either face that fact and laugh at it from time to time, or we get sucked into the nothingness, again and again.

I miss laughing at it. I miss being able to poke fun at it. Right now, everything seems pointless. But I am trying. I am.