Particular Moments

More Stars than There are

Tag: Adulthood

Freedom Days

 

Taste of flat beer,
Surprisingly, brings back
distant memories of freedom Days,

Free Days and
Easy ways—
Almost always, Blasé.

When one needn’t
to do much, but to Observe and Sway,
and sometimes crave—

barely Awake,
Still sleeping…
Oh!
this was Our
best state—

Rarely aspiring to don
on the great Atlas,
Never fearing
the coming
of a crucial Date.

 

 

Backtracking

Paying a visit to particular, neglected artifacts, you couldn’t help but to have noticed a person behind their marks of past usage—prints from a younger pair of hands.

After having been away for ages, remnants of another time was refreshing, yet you couldn’t have help but to have felt thoroughly estranged at their sights.

They are comprised of words, methods, and thoughts of an entirely separate man, someone once at the dawn of his making—energized, humorous, and light-heartedly sarcastic—ambivalent of his future endeavors yet managed to enjoy that lack of clarity with ease.

As you sifted through the pages and retraced the steps that, at the time being taken, seemed inconsequential—curtains were drawn and the illusion set in, history regained vitality, and you began sensing the former vigor filling your present network of veins.

And so drastically different was this old essence—in fact, so rejuvenating and bright and untamed it felt—that you were overcome and rendered irretrievably deplorable by it: this blood has become foreign.

That certain green air which you once carried, no longer suited so nicely as your natural skin—as they were.

As frequently as you enforce (reassuringly) upon yourself the notion that age has left you unscathed, in the face of solid, tangible vestiges of a fresher man—who has been left behind in between the old pages—you are helplessly, helpless, for they hold firm and irrefutable proof that, you too, have inevitably aged.

 

.

.

.

 

**Comic Relief:

 

“fuck.

 

agh…UGH. 

 

—whatever.”

The Only Drug.

“You love playing with that. You love playing with all your stuffed animals. You love your Mommy…your Daddy. You love your pajamas. You love everything, don’t ya? Yeah…But you know what, buddy? As you get older, some of the things you love, might not seem so special anymore. Like your Jack-in-a-Box. Maybe, you’ll realize that it’s just a piece of tin and a stuffed animal. And the older you get, the fewer things you really love. And by the time you get to my age, maybe it’s only one or two things—with me, I think it’s one.” 

                                                                                                                                                            —Staff Sergent William James speaking to his infant son. The Hurt Locker.