Existing here
Every day it is drifting away and I feel my fear coming closer to me. What can I do? There are dreams of me being home and I feel so terrified after that, so out of place. The streets look so dark and there are no daytimes in it. Like as if there are only mornings and evenings. What should one think of that? I’ve never felt so far away from home as in those days that I was home,… I missed this brutal place of dessert land. Though, how hard I missed it at home, my home here never came back in the same form. And maybe that was just it that made me so homesick in the vacation; knowing that it never would be the same again when I came back.
The people changed, some moved back, they went on with their lives in their own places. Some still make desperate calls and writings to this little village in Massachusetts. Friends are their motives. And I myself can’t think of any other reason that would be the major. But this desolated place works on ones melancholy thoughts and it helps to form memories already before something becomes a memory. What is happening here on separated moments can never be accomplished somewhere else, in time or place. It’s like a dream, everything is happening on a certain moment but you can never recall when.
The people here seem so desolate for me. And in the beginning I thought that it was sorrow that should be the name given to these who life here for whole their lives. But I guess one can be wrong in many ways. What do I really know about these people here? And what do I know about life in general to think I can speak like this! My life may seem the same to others as I look at theirs. The glasses we drink are empty as we didn’t learn to refill them. I can’t remember anymore when they were full, when the whine was burning in my throat. What is the reason of being great if there is no greater greatness of ending? We think, we are.
The tracks we make here will stay all our lives, and in some ways also that terrifies me. What I am doing here, I will do the rest of my life in my memory: How do I want to remember me? Where does motivation exist of if we have found no right of existence? Places are marked by faded memories of ancient people. Things only get more confused if we realize that we are not the main characters in our own movies, but they are: those dead people, the people where you slept with, fought with, argued with, danced with, and where you have been looking at all the time but never saw in the mirrors of your existence.
I am scared to leave no marks, none at all. But the balance on earth would make no sense then if I am not here, except, there is no balance. Where and when should I mark something? Why do we desire to exist? Psychology thinks in peoples mind. It thinks that it can balance us into areas of our own minds. How can we make other peoples maps? Psychology is proving our existence by proving the madness in humankind –that which is only nature or doomed to be broken- and that of our incapability. I would study it all and proven it wrong… if I could. But who decides what is wrong and right if there is no prove of any existence? No marks? This nor that?
