In the mood

My story does not begin here. It is a story that has lost its way. The story that does not begin here but could, given the right circumstances, is in search of voice in which to tell it. And that voice has become a stranger to me. I am estranged from it. I wish I could turn down the din to hear this voice. I wonder what it would say. It might tell me to take heart. To try to be patient. To not succumb to futility. To which I would reply, “that’s easy for you to say.” And the voice might say, “you know that’s not what I meant.” And I would nod my head in agreement.

The voice is trying to guide me out from out of the rubble. I implore the voice not to. I like lying in my safe, warm pile of rubble. I like that nobody knows this is where I am. But the voice sees this as a place of great danger. The voice is afraid that I will disappear into it, the rubble. And I am terrified of losing this voice, having lost it already. But I am terrified to confront the voice because I don’t know how to handle it if the voice has nothing to say. What will that say about me? I am so so afraid. And what would happen if the voice gave up on me? I’d rather not think about that either.

The voice must take a stand against silence. Not the concept of silence. Or silence as a pause or a meditation. Silence as absence. Silence as a reminder of all that is absent. I’d rather not succumb to these weighty voluminous absences. I am not in the mood. Just not in the mood.

About The Lost Pedestrian

In my wanderings throughout the moments/days/years, I try in earnest to find the mystical within the mundane and the mundane within the mystical, oftentimes confusing one from the other. I have wandered and roamed through many a city, many a town, in a state of wonder and bewilderment, without necessarily going anywhere. I am easily lost, but eventually found. (I am guessing you have just found me). My sincere hope is that you will find Something in this warehouse of thought, memory and false memory, words, numbers, tangents, murmurs, echoes (lots and lots of echoes), voices, dreams, and other paraphernalia.
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