Sometimes I’m afraid I’m killing off who I used to be. I like to tell myself then that any change comes with fears and these are my fears that still inspire these backward glances, yearnings to return from where I’m fleeing. Caught in the between of who I’m becoming and who I have been and this mixed bag I currently am.
I used to have this gift of leaving the past in the past, people, memories and all the things I did. Meet a person with whom intense experiences were shared, struggling a few months down the road to recall this face, the hurt expressions in the voice, because they could not believe I had forgotten. It was not callousness but a simple driven desire to keep moving forward, to keep going and what held me back I simply discarded and expected no hard feelings. Affecting and never affected.
A thousand lies have made me colder/And I don't think I can look at this the same/But all the miles that separate/Disappear now when I'm dreaming of your face
But this is different. This forward propulsion is in many years the final kind I will ever make from where I stand and when I begin to go forward again, it will be all new again in a new league learning new rules, barriers erected between the here and now and what is going to happen. Insurmountable like the divisions that separate Ages, one lover’s lips from another on your own, like the lock on the door has been changed and no key you have now will turn it to open.
I have accepted changes I never contemplated even contemplating, without so much as a raised voice in anger, quibble or doubt. Adjustments that were not asked of me happening before I even thought about what exactly they mean and who they are affecting. I have stopped thinking of the everyday in terms of what I can no longer do and in what I will soon be able to do. Reclaiming heart portions from muses so long in thrall of; rather shocked at the paltry invested affection or lack of desire to continue the back & forth.
I've heard this life is overrated/But I hope that it gets better as we go
I know the exact day when this began to happen. I know where I was and who I was with. I remember what we were talking about when the fade-outs became something I could no longer ignore. I remember wanting suddenly to be somewhere else and with someone else completely and brusquely terminating the meeting to do so. I vividly remember Kampala slipping back, the gratified sigh the enchantment of these solitary night lamps and lit windows regaining their hold, the back of you receding, and the complete knowledge and security of a cherished nook accessible once again with no guilt at all.
It won’t be long before I get you by my side/ And just hold you, tease you, squeeze you, / tell you what’s been on my mind
Quitting these phantoms was the hardest; racing against standards no one else aspires almost breaking me. It has taken me this long to set my own race, realise how far ahead I already was, accept what I always dreaded about myself as perhaps the most vital of who I will be, take it and be unafraid to show it off.
I want you to fly with me/I miss how you lie with me/I just wish you could dine with me