i hang my coat up in the first bar. there is no peace that i've found so far.

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Field Guide to the Night Sky

No one witnesses
the history of light.
The sky litters itself
with dust and I’m unsettled
by the steadfast burn
of thinking.
The night sky reaches
inside me,
I am sleepless
waiting for each star
to cross
into its corner, flower
then dim.
I do not believe
in paradise:
to flower, then dim.


-- Jennifer Chang

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I'm torn on the third thing (song, poem, whatever) for this post. At this moment in my world, everything is seeming particularly significant and poignant. I wish I could find something better representative of my mood right now, my thoughts on moving on or on ends and endings, but neither of those sentiments even seems to properly classify the tornado going on inside my head.

This blog is not the place whereupon this conversation can work itself out. I don't know if it used to be or never was; I have that problem, with memory -- sometimes I can't distinguish whether something has changed, or I have, or neither.
I don't have a good grasp on endings. Most of the time, when they occur, I think "finally", and I've already been ready to go; the car is running, the bags are packed into the backseat and the suitcase is strapped on the roof. And sometimes I wish I had more time to finesse the closure and tie the ribbons tight on all those perfectly packaged memories. Maybe if I took the time to -- no, maybe if I *made* time for the things I know are important, the things which matter the most and the things which you always think about when you're driving away... maybe if I met them at the gate in the first place, shook their hands and showed them around, then by now I wouldn't be looking backwards while running forwards.

Is a little more than two weeks time enough to make things right? Maybe this is just the way things are; that some things complete themselves, and some things are walked away from, and some battle scars will never properly heal, and for the rest of your life they hurt a little bit before it rains.
Maybe some things fade. Maybe some things are brief and ephemeral and they are only beautiful because of it.
Maybe some things will weigh on you.
Maybe sometimes the end is really arriving, or its been here for a while and you've overstayed your welcome. Do we walk away from mess? Or is the end frayed and messy, always, and that is simply how it goes?

I don't know. Are there ends, are there trains, are there songs that play when you are packing up the car and trying to never look back. Do you forget them, do you nurse the wounds, do you love it all.

I don't know.

I don't know what poem/video/song would've covered this feeling.