For a very brief moment, I witnessed something I felt I needed to. There were people walking in an area where there are now people not walking, or at least, where people weren’t walking for a time, and now there they are walking again. I was witness to this place when it was not strange for these people to be walking. Now there are different people walking the patch in which I walked, living in the room in which I lived in, and the other day I drove by and looked in the window and it was dark, as if no one lived there. I was unconvinced. The place where I used to live was too nice for there to be no one living there now. But for a while there was no one, and before me there were a slew of people from all walks of life coming and going, and it was the most normal thing in the world.
Once, before I lived there I was at a saloon with a friend of mine and a few unfriends of mine and we ordered a large pitcher of beer and we enjoyed it together as strangers. A month later the same stranger refused to serve me the largest glass of orange juice I could order, instead, settling instead for a series of two small glasses. I never saw him again, though we shared the same first name. It is strange how the world can change so fast, and how those most unaffected can be the most affected.
I am much too old to walk this path now. I was old enough then, but now I am much too old. It strikes a deep pain in my heart. I wish that I could go back to that time and walk that path and for that path to extend longer into the future like it was originally intended. But the universe did not have that path in mind for me or like minded me’s who are now thrust into an area of un-expression, where who knows where the next bout of expression will come from, if it ever does at all.
I miss the rattling spoons of the midnight hall and ice cream and french fries and theiles of toasted peanut butter and jelly sandwiches waiting to be expressed on the palate of untoasted bread and jarred jelly. But that expression is long gone and even still only existing in a human itself unrecorded, still living, but removed from the experience, only accessible through a series of fragmented memories. WIll you shift the gear? Run the tape backwards? Or any other expression of backwardedness?
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