ionize

the first thing i ever saw was the opening of a car door, through a perfectly paned window, in a cell in a subdivision, in the autumn of the desert. everything that came after or before was simply a reverberation of this moment. of this first sight. of this first memory. the rings of a rock, dropped and drowning, in the stillness of the waters that surrounds us. life doesn't happen in any particular order. calendars pale in comparison to the values and the verdicts. time doesn't happen in any particular order. my past, present and future all started then. that day. peering through the shutter blades.

now and again i find myself peering out through blinds i've hung around myself. trying to find a familiar sight. trying to find a way to the door. people come and go, with greater frequency these days. i've come to expect it. i'm learning to accept it. i try to find in me, whatever it is i don't see, that propels this to sky rocket. that propels this radius to expand and demand i expect nothing from anyone. surely, there's something i just don't see. i trace the lines of my face, my tired eyes, straining in the dim light of the dank bathroom bursting in color i just can't define in the dark.

rifling through the remnants of my history, recently re-emerged, i found my old favorite book. wherein i immediately supplanted myself. getting lost in the lines i've known so well. the lines i'd forgotten, but still know so well. i take breaks to scatter through old photos that no one will appreciate quite like me. and i wish there were someone to share them with. someone who could appreciate them a little like me. and i think of perfectly paned windows, in the cells of subdivisions we'll always know so well.

the week ahead is busy. and i look to the changes that will keep me busy. maraud me from myself and the focus of my fears. i take my eleven vitamins and four spoonfuls of minerals twice daily. and i see the changes that have made me even more of myself. the ways the simplicity i once sought, now reverberate to expand. i look at all those old books, back on the shelf finally, read and unread. and i want to find safety in the old. i want to reread everything i've ever read and loved. the shelter in the pages i've found home. it's hard to have faith in anything new these days. i've grown to expect it.

and i think of that first sight. that first day, preceded by so many. followed by such flames. and every succeeding scar just a burn from that first fire. from that first day. i peer through the blinds and try to see beyond it. try to see beyond the opening of a door. because the doors, they close so quickly these days. with such frequency. i trace the lines of my face the way a lover once did, trying to find whatever it is i just don't see. trying to find how he happened. how he happened to leave. and i how i came to be. how simplicity has become so hard to re-inhabit.