March 24, 2014

Why the winter birds are calling, to me

Birds etc.

There are some songs I cannot listen to; there are some too, that I cannot stop hearing.

We leave behind the present, wishing no more to relive the past; yet some things remain, forever, in our days.

I construct my new beginnings, whilst covering the wounds of who I was and who I was not; in the middle of all this, I forgot, to speak, and now - I hear them calling.

You can ask yourself, how can one do this, to one they love, to one who does nothing, until the birds stop their song, until the flags fall to the floor, until the silence tears at your heart and asks why?

Sometimes, I think anything has been art. This time, I feel, it is me. Or, what I was when I wrote this - because now, like all who learn at the most important moments I was this, for a second my heart nailed to the wall. And then, as the paint dries, the feeling fades.

In these moments we learn again all that we have lived, for a millisecond the collective whole, both child and man dead in our own life time yet free (we imagine) to live again.