You know those moments that have passed that you can’t even bare to be reminded of, so signficant did they seem at one point but now, it’s embarassing to think about how important they seemed. And now maybe, maybe… you want nothing to do with them anymore. Because it’s humiliating to think — I’ve moved on but everyone knew then, who I was and what I thought at that time. It’s shameful. And more than that, it’s inherently difficult to think back. It conjures up all of those feelings that you once had. I have a former friend and he is married to this very fair, beautiful girl, for example. And I’ve since seen a weddig picture of this person and his wife. I’ve even seen this person one time walking with her down the street. There was a time when seeing this would have made me break down. Now, it’s gone. And once it’s gone, you can’t get it back. You care about people but with time and distance and a shift of focus, they’re suddenly incredibly easy to shut out. I still think of and remember these people despite them being gone. They’re like ghosts, un-necessarily and meanly haunting. That they’re haunting in the first place though, is indicitive that there is still some lingering flickering coal somewhere out there maybe. Or maybe it’s merely lingering memories of significant moments, or significance in general.
There’s this song by the Cardigans I’ve recently discovered, by accident actually, while searching for something else; it’s entitled Couldn’t Care Less and one of the verses is:
“Your face don’t look like before
It’s really not like yours anymore
Your eyes don’t like me no more
They quiver and they shift to the floor
My heart don’t beat like before
It’s never been this slow
No my blood don’t flow anymore
And you couldn’t care less
And that, combined with its sparse, haunting melody conjures up an image of me doing exactly what I’m doing right now; reflecting, on something that’s lost that I can still see when I look out my window, somewhere across miles and miles of open outstretched prairie nighttime, closer than the horizon but farther in metaphor. I mentioned embarrassment before; it’s embarrassing, writing this actually because of how faux-poetic this all seems. It’s real to me now, though. And this song is playing, overwrought and tragic. And I’m just thinking of all these moments. They’re like little flickers; it’s like I’m holding a lantern and pivoting again and again in a pitch-black room, and the light keeps casting on photographs on a wall, a new one each time I stop. And some of them are photographs of times that I wish could happen over again, and some of them are glaring visual reminders of things I wish I could erase, or do over again completely. They’re dark and shadowy and hard to make out, but that those relics still exist in the first place, are still reminders, no matter how distant they are. Even the good ones are distant. Even the best one, or, the best ones, are distant.
Because moments pass by, good or bad, and they always live in vague dark fragments. And some are all for nothing and some shape us. And I’m reflecting on both, mostly the bad, and tragic violins can be heard, and dark night can be seen, and the fact remains that I’ll never be the same.