the moment
I try not to think about the melancholy that courses through my veins.
It’s been a part of my flesh,
every fibre of my being,
for as long as the thought
became a memory.
Sometimes, I choose to forget.
Sometimes, I try.
Sometimes, I just let it wash through me.
Acknowledge I cannot drain it out of myself
without bleeding myself dry.
The moment.
In truth, there have been many.
Wondering if any feeling in that moment is beyond fleeting.
Realising I have never really been passionate about anything.
A life full of trying
an almost endless stream of new things
to see if anything would take.
Hobbies, travel, sport, art, music, creative pursuits, adventures.
Even jumping off a cliff a few thousand feet above the nearest landing point
at a place aptly called ‘the Remarkables’,
strapped next to a seasoned jumper hang-gliding to the ground below.
Floating for a while with an abyss flashing before my eyes.
Joyless.
Dispassionate to the point of accepting
an irregular heartbeat is a mechanical failure.
I am a robot.
Moving through a simulation and nothing is real.
Sleep walking.
Blue pill all the way baby.
Yet imbued with red pill wiring.
Empty.
__________________________
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