I’ve never felt entirely in or out of control. I’ve always felt the natural progression of life was steady and that our own empty spaces put us out of sync. Mostly out of sync but sometimes and briefly we’d be on time. The moments you wake up without the pains in your back. The moments when you catch the new line opening at the crowded market. The moments when you don’t remember how you usually are around people.
Suddenly though, we’re back to trying to catch up or slow down, neither is very useful. It’s sweet because its familiar, its bitter because its predictable. Things won’t taste right for weeks. Traffic seems to be everywhere. My cigarettes taste like shit. I can’t even drink this down if I tried. This goes beyond suppression.
The space remains here because we think it has purpose. That this space is a recipient of something so beautifully sweet and wonderful. By keeping this space, you’ll never feel anything new. You’ll never let them through. You’ll never understand why there are months like these when things all just kind of fabricate themselves.
I can’t really believe any of this.