Today whilst wandering the forgotten realms of old disks, I came upon an old hyperlink poetry page I used to have. Strange to find again old soulpourings about people I haven’t seen in years.
Looking through these old files, I realize that all these precious insights, these understandings that kept me warm at night – they are nothing now, no matter how true they might have been. Frozen crystals of clarity that have been glazed over with a patina of disuse.
I’ve recently become obsessed with an old relationship I was in. I’ve been wondering if I remember it the way it was or has my mind twisted it somehow to romantisize what I now wish it was? It doesn’t help that it was one of those dances that you can’t pin down at the time. Can’t impale like a butterfly onto a board. The steps can’t be studied, nor the movements compared to other pieces of random grace. I remember wishing to stab the beauty and preserve it, if dead.
It’s the weather.
This oppresive mix of heat and sky and cloud.