Caught between the here and now and the past. Liminality is a term I looked up last night, and it seems to be creeping into my life. More appropriately, my life seems to be unraveling and unfurling and disintegrating to reveal the ideas associated with the term in the place of what I currently feel to be real. But I knew it. I felt it. A swarm of experiences. A flurry of them that keep me going and moving faster and faster. I’m growing and learning and experiencing, but I haven’t just been still. I miss the stillness. I miss the memories and thoughts that creep into my mind when everything else stops. How quickly the present gives way to the ghosts of the pasts. I can still feel things and sense things. Sometimes I am empowered by remembering where I come from. Remembering I am a body that has been cared for and has shared with others bodies around me. Other times, I’m weighed down by the regret and pain. But in the end, it all strengthens me.
Where the fuck was I going? I’m torn between intellect and emotion. The two seem to constantly be clashing, and I have yet to find a balance worthy enough to be considered a viable state to constantly be in. I’m just thrown about in phases and hope that with each change, I can land on my feet and not fall flat and remain broken and unable to keep moving, forcing me to remain stagnant. I’ve been stagnant for far too long.
But childish wants and longings felt pure. In an age of innocence, and frankly, undeniable stupidity and ignorance of the ways of the world, the passion and power behind such feelings remain undeniably enchanting. Shake me down, but not too fucking much. I’ve got to be true to myself and remember that I only have myself, but not forget that I’ve had others become a part of my life. But my life is separate from who I am. But in a lot of ways it isn’t. Constant, conflicting, cavernous thoughts keep me tired and feeling heavy. I felt drunk tonight, but it was all far less superficial than I expected.