Faith Where Faith Should Furrow
Little girl steps out of the dark and damp, again. Now she’s wearing square-framed glasses and a brusque disappointment emanates from the flush on her cheeks. She sighs and says “You really are doing nothing with your life, you know.” But now I punch her in the face like Smackdown and apply a naughts-and-crosses background to the lenses of her glasses. So she’ll see that life is not exactly how she might see it. It is contained in similar shaped boxes, all shuffling along together.
So, sure. I do not have a job [as yet]. I do not have a lover [as of now]. I do not have money [at the moment]. I do not have a plan or guideline [anymore]. I don’t really have any socially-acceptable qualifications [at all]. But, all the boxes in my life contain a brilliant small half circle in each corner. That would be the sun. And sometimes I can get quite ghoulish about the swell of nothing in my days, but the fact that there is light after the swift invasion of glistening insect wings that claimed any radiance from my ceilings the last year is an accomplishment enough, I think. No. No, I know. I have to know. I have to be ok with the camouflage of failure my 20 years have taken on. Because I have to smile more than I was. I have to recognize the sweet in tannin and the grandeur in rust. More than that, though. I do have to recognize [and I beg; let it be soon] that I do have a talent for something. I have anything that differentiates me from other ‘failures’. I don’t think there can be failure when there is still happiness. So I must instead, for now, focus on this.
So. If I were to write a list of things to do, each day, for the next year. Number one would be bare my teeth in hazy, indifferent delirium, as much as was even slightly warranted. Number two would be to shower. And so on.
And yes, I lost my first time to the debilitating pressure of ‘accomplishments’ in life. And then I lost my best times to the filmy mindset of a sleepless man in his car. But this is something that happened. It just happened. Like other things will happen. Like other things have happened. And it’s O.K. No, really. It’s totally O.K. It is also O.K to drown myself in the elixir of melancholy sometimes, so long as it does not reign supreme over the other boxes in my life. And even that funereal, heavy little box has a blinking, almost imperceptible sun in its corner. Because to remember the fantastic-isms and cracks at smiles edge like pottery, is to recognize that such memories containing the faces behind the smiles can not be recreated, ever. And these recollections are really all I have. But I am free to share them with people that care for me, or even people that don’t. Because a lot of them aren’t humorous for the people in them, they are humorous for the kinds of people they were. And nobody else has to know them personally for them to see the same, startling slight sun, and then let their own mouths stretch, then pull to cracks. And I create a memory from the remembrance of another. So their legacy lives on, as jarring and awkward as that line is.
What is best, though, is I can let these relics dapple my wan and watery skin, reside just beneath this barely saturated layer and I can beam like I did in the presence of their ease. I can incur the prediction of a lighter soul under the shy, strained speech, from others.
And, as much as I hate to say it, these two toppled seraphs can live on through me in some small way. And I’m not too sure I would have exposed their presence in my life so much if they had not fallen.