Memories and Burials

The tortures endured, however, were indubitably quite equal for the time, to those of actual sepulture. They were fearfully — they were inconceivably hideous; but out of Evil proceeded Good; for their very excess wrought in my spirit an inevitable revulsion. My soul acquired tone — acquired temper. I went abroad. I took vigorous exercise. I breathed the free air of Heaven. I thought upon other subjects than Death… I became a new man, and lived a man’s life. From that memorable night, I dismissed forever my charnel apprehensions, and with them vanished the cataleptic disorder, of which, perhaps, they had been less the consequence than the cause.
-“The Premature Burial” by Edgar Allan Poe
I’d like to revisit the theme of my apartment. It may seem overdone, but reader you must understand that it’s not. I find myself revisiting my feelings for that place; especially when I visit it. It is now a barren complex, stripped of personality and life. And it was me who did it; like a Helen of Troy I built my empire and just like a wild-fire (or an earthquake), I tore it down. I mean, it’s not like it could be stopped. Like Natural disasters, life cannot be stopped; once the curtain opens, the show must go on.
     As I walk through the small parking lot (admiring the other well-lit apartments) I expect to find mine in the same conditions; comfortable, soothing and homey. Upon opening the doors I am surprised (even though I expected it) to find with less furniture then I once had, with an empty fridge and a dirty floor. It feels old, it feels strange, it does not feel mine; yet, it is all me.
I walk into my room, expecting to see my poster James Dean looking over me (hip jutted to one side, a half smirk, and a cigarette on his lips). I look over to my bed expecting it to be in its place, dressed and made. Not fully into the room, and my mid expects to see my books case filled with every book I’ve ever read, my drawer packed with clothes and my desk filled with papers with work undone. Yet now there is no Jimmy, there is no comfortable, no books for my amusement, no personal belongings in my drawers and no desk to place any type of work. This room, where I once dared to dream, to sleep, to cry and to be intimate in my own right is only a four wall room with nothing to offer but a mattress that now lies on the floor, an empty drawer, a bookcase covered in dust and space; lots of space.
     As I lay down on my mattress I notice how far away from comfort this is. Now that I have given away the frame and boxspring, how close I am to the floor. Now that I have almost moved out, how the room feels so small. I lay there, thinking and feeling while I try to remember the past; yet, the only thing I achieve is to surrender into the past. The difference you ask, is that the first is done with acceptance and at times resignation; while the latter is done in wantonness and sentimentality. I have often found myself (after the change) whispering to myself or my boyfriend “bring it back. I want my apartment back.” When I am alone my words echo in the room, when I’m with my boyfriend he merely claps in a mocking way, turns to me and says, “Nope. No magic.” Either way I am saddened because I don’t have the power to go back to once was, and he or any other person does not have that power either.
     I guess that’s the message of it all. There is no magic, no machine, no natural cause that can take you back into a specific time. There is no force strong enough to bring you back into that moment when you were happy. Things come and go as the please, at a rate that you may not agree with but it cannot be stopped. Either you appreciate that moment when it happened or you don’t. More than that, time is slave to no one yet it is master of all. It takes what it wants and leaves what it will.
     The only things once can do (to not seem as a defeatist) is to work every moment to your liking. DO what you want, how you want with what you want. make every moment the bets it can be. You can’t hold it forever but you can make it last through memories, words, pictures, and laughter.
     We are limited beings. We have an arrival date yet we do not have an expiration date. It is for this reason that it is up to us to make the most of everything. Yes, there will be nostalgia. Yes, there will be pain. And yes, there will be times when you definitely would like to turn back time and start all over again or do something again; but life does not work that way. You have to wake up every day willing to start anew with what you have. You have to learn to live and let live; that way we will all be a step closer to our goal.
Signing off,
TWS
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