Monday, November 24, 2008

Slow dancing in a burning room

This is not the ghost of a past experience, it's the makings of a new one. I've felt all day something rising up from my chest, into my throat, the beginnings of panic, the chill of fear. The deep recognition of yet another crossroads.

I've been here before. I recognize that very candy dish there. I've seen this very stairway here, and I know the basement it leads down to. You laugh at me like I'm just a child...I may be young and naive, but I know what I feel, and what I feel is a deep and forboding familiarity. I don't know how I know, only that I know.

I can't find my breath to inhale. I drift along in a haze of half-acceptance. God gives clarity that is fuzzy and unclear. The sky wept today, wept for every Un-Hollywood there ever was.

I don't know anything, although I pretend to know a lot. All the knowledge and desire in the world will not save the ship determined to sink. Right now both of my hands are in the hair - don't shoot. Kick me when I'm down, paint any picture of me that you like...I only hope that at the end of this road, I see a smile in this reflection that says, "This is the good stuff. These are the times we'll look back on and go, 'Yeah.'"

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