An Exercise In Logic
Time is a guy.
I rather like Time, you know, in that way. Due to the current narrative laws of my life, this means that Time is charming and inconsiderate and never around. Where is Time? I want Time. I ain't gettin' any. There's shit I Need To Do and he's off somewhere else with other people and he's not even thinking about me.
That is Time.
All Hail The Shifting Gears
The Earth is in constant orbit of the Sun. Every day we've changed the angle the light hits us, and yet it only ever takes two or three days for the transition from the weak and distant winter sun to the brilliance and warmth of a real sun. Thump; and we have Spring.
Somewhere, deeper than molecules and cells, is the recognition that the Sun gives us life, winds up our lives and makes us go. We are no Pompeii Worms. It's hard not to be a flower in these early days, and turn with the spin of the Earth to face the Sun, where ever it is in the sky. I feel myself unfolding.
However Many Days Is Never Enough
Still life is not a relief.
So you've weathered the stormy seas, the swells have dropped and the winds died down and there's no more lightning and the thunder is only a distant grumble, not willing to leave entirely but prepared to leave you alone for now. You've weathered the storm.
Still life is not a relief. There's nothing to do now but try to clean up the wreckage and repair the damage and you're not up to the task. Maybe you didn't expect that.
It's a big knotty mess, and I'm picking at it and picking at it, because if I can unravel it, it will make sense, and if I can unravel it, then I must be able to make something positive out of it.
Maybe there is nothing positive to be made. No small triumph to be found. Nothing to make it worth the trouble.
It isn't the irresistible pain of a tooth ache. Treading the waters of these memories is a kick in the gut. I tell myself I go there over and over to make myself immune. I'm fooling myself. I'm just brooding, deepening the all the damage with needless repetition, and going nowhere.
Maybe there isn't yet enough time between then and now.
Maybe there never will be.
Heartache is radioactive. It leaks all over you, your life, you past and future. The depth of hurt correlates directly with the length of the half-life. The strength might decay over time, but it never disappears completely.