aetus, or an era in one's life
28 August 2004
1:36 p.m.
The bare flesh of my arms reaches for the humidity, for the heat, and my spirit is restless today like the trees turning in the wind, predicting rain.
An email from Emi today--full of words that I expected, sentiments filled with her pain and hurt--a bruised ego and broken heart. The expected words comforted me with the belief that she will be alright when the pain of this ending lifts from her spirit. As cold as I try to be, I cannot glare so long at a spirit I once cherished, but it is good to move away--to move on--to grow into myself unhindered.
The melodies of Edie Carey float around me, complimenting the heat like the seconds the sun disappears behind a piece of interloping cloud.
There are tinges of sadness around my spirit, slightly discolored like browning paper or nicotine-stained fingers, and I recognize it as my old friend, Melancholy, subtle as always, familiar and certain--like a transparent barrier between that place where sadness washes over everything and my ability to smile.
I feel most like myself today in this slip of summer heat.