Thoughts on Attachment
We attach to things so quickly.
We grab at a pinkish, blurred outline, trying to hold on.
And with the inevitable and unyielding passing of time,
Our hands tire, callouses emerging on our fingertips,
Places where we once clung to what we wanted to remember,
Some emotion that we needed to feel:
A sight of glaring, undeniable brilliance.
In the way that stars in the sky seem
Like thousands of little yellow traffic lights-
I find myself permanently in a state of in between.
I cannot form constellations from this intersection,
And I am unsure if I am to go, or to let go;
I am no longer sure if there is even a difference.
Memories wither quickly into skeletons of ideas
Of who we once were, what things once were,
And we try to follow the old promises of life,
Try to understand where things went wrong along the way,
Until we have circumvented the decades before,
Until we can almost convince ourselves, even,
Of whatever we need to believe,
To believe it is all okay.
The traffic lights flicker, on and off.
The marrow and sinew of my bone crack slowly.
It is increasingly tiresome to remain attached,
But I feel my skin being torn off
At the sheer prospect of forgetting,
Of accepting, of understanding and letting go.
But I must bleed, I must bare,
With warm flesh, I must let you go.