Short!
11/24/00
Short week away from work. Nice huh?
Your body has memories.
After years of not touching a piano, your fingers remember the keys, the strokes, the touch the trills to make the tune right again. They might still be rusty but they still remember. They can sing out a song that you forgot in your brain and as your eyes try to remember how to re-read the notes while the sheet music is in front of you. Your fingers remember.
In the same way, the heart remembers.
This time of year always gets me down and I can’t ever understand why when I know my life is active, and fulfilled and I am surrounded by friends who love me. There’s nothing wrong or really lacking in my life right now. But my heart aches with memories of it’s own. Things not in this journal or on the front of my mind creep out and old bruises and scars, long since healed over, softened, and forgotten, creep out again. Like arthritic joints during rainy nights.
Crimes against a body, heart, soul, crimes against one’s self.These crimes voice themselves in hollow and pale echos like a still beating heart.
Crimes against a fragile and delicate psyche. An indigo memory entrenched in skin, along knuckles, and knees. I feel like smoking and crying again for no reason other than a memory in my body that wants to be mourned. Again.
I used to have nightmares. Of suffocation. Of sinking deep underneath an unbearable weight. The weight of crimes. They used to be stronger, more frequent. I wouldn’t sleep well for weeks. This time of year always. Only the last 3 years or so have the nightmares ceased. But the body remembers. The nightmares are now supplanted by a tender and achey sense of uneasiness that I know will soon pass in a few days. Just a few days. But the body never forgets.
If you know me, don’t ask me
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