Sanding the Wood-Work

Break through this morning with Adina. I suppose I really do have a subconscious...

Today I remembered Christopher. I thought of him in much the same way I would have eleven years ago. Not as fact, history, or something past, but rather as the human being he was and would still be. People leave us and we forget. They become memories that slip and fade. We can recall, but soon enough there comes a time when we can no longer connect. I think I've watched that happen to my family since his death. I've experienced it myself. I've let Christopher become a memory, a dream... something fleeting and far away. The truth is that I will always love him. If I concentrate long and hard enough I can remember just how he moved, and also how his lips cracked, parted, and turned upwards to reveal the awkward space between his front teeth. I remember Christopher in quiet moments when I am alone, but I have not shared his story, or the story of that day with anyone in quite sometime. I don't know that I have ever given specific details. I don't think I have ever known what they mean or how significant and responsible that experience has been in defining moments of my life, and creating backwards patterns into which I have fallen helplessly.

Humans are such multifaceted creatures. We are always searching for the answers to our own questions, and to the inquires of those that came before us.

I am trapped here in this moment, contained by the pattern and impartial nature of your reply. There is so much more in every direction and I absolutely hold you responsible for all of it.

reflection

All I can think of lately is the first time I read "The Perks of Being a Wallflower" by Stephen Chbosky. It was first semester of my senior year in high school and pretty much everyone I know had heard of it, read it, and had their own opinion. People don't like to admit enjoying anything that's even the least bit popular, so most of these opinions were negative and overtly judgmental, but I decided to pick it up anyway and see what all the hype was about. Truth be told I've never loved a piece of literature more. I've never related to a main character as closely as I did to Charlie, and I have never been impacted as profoundly by any other novel. It's really hard to find the feeling that those letters gave me the first time. It's one of the most specific things I've ever felt, and also one of the greatest. Sometimes I can find it in the company of my dearest friends, or in the high pitched shrieking of freight wheels as they break steadily and pass through the city. Sometimes it is with me under water, or stuck between my toes like sand. Ever so occasionally I will see it in a stranger, or wake up to it in the dark. It is a feeling that I can never keep, I don't think anyone can. It's fleeting nature is part of its wonder. It is there and then it quickly goes. I never see it coming, and I am always startled when it slips away. The best books not only make you feel like part of the story, but cause you to ache for its characters when the are gone. I ache for Charlie with each passing day.