Castles Made of Sand

They say that things happen in six-month cycles, both good and bad things – and that we evolve with each half-year and reassess the things that have came before. They say that life tends to work itself out before too long, and that what is to keep us safe will be revealed in due course. Why, then, is it important to mention this? Because right now, on the six-month anniversary I’m stuck remembering everything that has happened in the last six-month cycle, from the start to the finish, watching myself progress from hope to hurt, and watching my life falling apart at the seams and revealing critical weaknesses. Six months ago, to the second, I was flying over Alaska heading bound for better days and broader horizons, to a winter wonderland and all the promises the land of opportunity would present. Not only just the land of opportunity, but the most important person in it – something I was hoping I could say for a long time to come. Perhaps I was fooling myself (I know I was fooling myself) in the fruitless hopes that would continue to be the case, however, at the time it was right in every way. Like Robert Plant once sang, “good times, bad times, you know I’ve had my share” – reflecting the perpetually changing nature of life and the human nature that carries us to be and to create and to explore – and reflecting the perfect balance of good and bad to keep things having meaning. This is, really, just prolonging that and breaking it up into a much longer timeframe. The question is do I trust in faith that it will come good again sometime? I honestly do not know. Do I trust that it will lead me back up the garden path to that diamond by the lake? I don’t know that either. Do I trust that someday I will once more have the chance at being happy? Only time may tell. For now, however, I’m riding the wave as best I can, trying my best to keep afloat. You said you wish you had amnesia, be it in relation to what has came and gone or not I’m not sure, but of all the things I’ve heard of late, it’s possibly the most astute. If it is about me, then so be it – we’ve obviously became too bitter and all my fears are being thrust at me head-on. I’ve always said that, to borrow a lyric, “I was nervous from the start that our muscles might tear us apart”, worrying that something so strong when it is cornered will only turn on itself and cause hurt to those involved, and this, I think, is what is happening. It’s tearing its own flesh to escape the hands of certain doom and essentially carrying it out itself. It’s just my paranoia and my need, my lack of topic and direction, and your lack of interest that’s doing it. It’s only who we are, and it’s only what we should’ve expected. Are we so different from human to not expect it to become ugly? If that truly is what we’ve become, and if what you said means what it appears to have, then we truly are uglier than I ever thought possible. And above all, we are, perhaps too ugly to survive at all in any form. Ugly has a habit of being a scourge, a disease – a tick eating at the underbelly of good and right. Are we, then, ugly? Only time, amongst a myriad of possibility, will answer that question. All I know is, I thoroughly dislike time and all of the chance it brings with it. I like to know the outcome before it has happened, to know the safe odds before I take a bet – being thrust into a perpetually dynamic situation is something I don’t do by choice. Ride the wave, ride the wave. Catch the jetstream and hope that someday you can retrace that one moment, that brief instant in time where for the first time in your life, you felt reborn as the radiant white light and the cool winter breeze captured your face and showed you the calm before the storm, and the belly of the beast. Hope, hope for a brighter day.

Perhaps, if I had amnesia, I could forget that you still mean the world to me.