BrownEyedElliot

it grows white like the walls now, this fragile frame,

showing very little promise of ever returning to color.

the faces that surfaced within have faded and a

morose mauve overwhelms. as if to say, it was

meant to be this way. nothing is permanent, those

who believe there is any such sustainability will only

be abandoned. let the boxes hold your glimpses, pile

them at the edges and leave them unkempt. the weary

will of memory carries it off only when you look

away and least expect. it flows out of field as if it

were nothing but fallen leaves from an old tree. first

age, then sway, then wash away. no feeble mind

can hold you. your whispers of future were all too

soft and not quite as true, now i leave the only place

that ever held you. no paper cut or metal etched will

carry the mood that it intended and soon, sadly, we

will all find, that my heart has mended.

it was the cup you used while you were here, on your way back through chicago for the last time. it sat right there, next to the television in my bedroom for over a week. until today.

it sat there quietly and out of the way, and it didn’t ask much of my attention. from time to time i would notice it was there, and have the thought to move it but instead i would leave it. when people would come into the room, suddenly i was more aware of it. i would worry that they might think it was theirs and move it. i would feel it sitting there, every so empty and yet ever so full. until today.

it isn’t about the dirty dish, though i don’t have a ton of large glasses so it would be best to wash it. it’s about the sad that wells up into my chest when i see it. the sad isn’t there much anymore, surprisingly really. the sad flares maybe every few days, but it seems the distance that i always felt between us actually helped to make all the distance in the world seem rather natural. i let the glass hold my sad, off to the side and out of the way. i glance at it, and i put it off to deal with later. until today.

today, for no particular reason, i picked it up. i held it. and today, i put that glass into the dishwasher. i thought of you. i thought i would ask how you are. i thought i would give you an update, even if that update is merely: there’s a cup in my dishwasher today.

i have few words for where i am, except i never thought i’d be here again.

here’s to looking forward. to onward and upward. to far away from waiting. to better places.

unrest covers me and there is no place to start telling this story. could this be it, the place for which i drove quickly and swiftly for so many years? bearing a burden of place and time, pinned down by the sameness of the days and the nights and the peace and the fights.

feeling like that old song, that filled fall. the burn to learn, and move and spurn lingers and fingers at my strings, it sings. a melody of once was, of never wills, or covered spills. its a cello-ed tune with sweeps and swoons, of old harms and wounds. he’s a lyric of an unheard track, with all these things i lack. i trudge, wondering where that anthem went and how that time was spent. all the things I hear only beckon my brains to ponder, on those far off numbers and the memory that slipped through the cracks. the ones i lived so hard but never left scars. so i strain to remain in the moment of now and not the oh how, oh why, oh where am i’s.

the good life plays as an anthem while i reminisce. remembering where we were in february and thinking happily about where we’ll be in september.

i blinked and faith filled my mind. i don’t know how i got here, or when i grew so content with this “not thy will” life, but its been a long time coming. i somehow manage to feel so small and powerless in the world, and yet so poised to try and alter it. we discuss choices that affect the scope of our impact, and i’m so blown away to have found someone with the same convictions of conquering.

all this runs amuck in my mind while i watch the millions of cars creeping through tiny white lines. the dan ryan fills with people who will never know me. the city runs, trains and planes and cars and people, oblivious to me. and i’m just happy be sitting here alone with my pickles and potato salad, not oblivious to them.

and this is where i speak when no one here is listening. when typing silently to this screen screams louder than saying anything out loud. i fill with anger and resentment, putting distance in my stride. how will i speak to you, how will i turn your head?

i collect samples of other’s speech, to listen to those who also felt unheard. to give voice to another who feels without. i collect and i gather, i rehearse and i perch myself in a position to say things unsaid for those who wouldn’t stand here themselves. i tremble to be truthful. no one here wants truth.

we live as if lies are more powerful than truth, there is no absolute. so what do we say of our time, that no can know what its for or where it might take us. why do we speak if all that is said is relative to nothing.

relative. we’re all relative. subjective and unseeing. a collective mass of mindlessness, far more educated than generations past. our educations make us greater, we build higher, we fly faster, we push our population with the globe bursting at its seams. higher education, higher standard, lower value on wisdom learned through experience, lower value on faith.

you’re educated, sophisticated. congratulations, you’re a number. join the stack of papers left unread for a job filled by one who got there first. yesterday a teacher, living his life to fill others with his experiences, welcomed me to the workforce by saying,

“congratulations, welcome to working the rest of your life away.”

it’s crazy how it looms. after everyone has gone and walked away. i can’t explain where it comes from, and where it goes when others come around. but it’s here when i get home more often than not lately. in the sunshine of a clear sky, in the darkness of my room, even behind the blue of a stranger’s eyes. it found me here, when i’d thought i’d left it there.