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My blog, where I store those thoughts rattling around my brain |
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Welcome to the insanity of my mind! Please excuse the cobwebs and clutter, I've been meaning to clean the place up a bit... Stop in and read some of my nonsense whenever the mood strikes you :) |
| Farewell, little shop. You were never mine, but that couldn't stop me from pretending. Each day I would say hello to your mannequins, my footsteps echoing in your empty rooms. I love to breathe you in. Your exotic perfumes, your musty corners, the lingering scents of old clothes. I've grown familiar with your creaky boards, yet I'm always surprised when I stumble over your warped spot. Just before opening is my favorite time. I savor your stillness just before the speaker kicks on and the doorbell starts ringing. I listen to your music: The footsteps above dance a stucco, humming engines whiz by, horns honk, sirens whistle, people mumble, and I am your audience. You are the beating heart of this city, pumping with nervous energy. Then the lights flicker on, and you come to life. Do you know how many times people have told me, "I love your store!" "Thank you," I always respond sheepishly. "But it's not mine." Nick insisted I was wrong. "You work here, so it counts." Not to me, I could never rightfully claim your vibrant displays or your eccentric style. Perhaps that is why I sometimes felt discomfort behind your counters, I'm but an imposter, taking credit for accomplishments I've never achieved. At other times my unease was when people knew I didn't belong. "Where's the owner?" I would shrug or play it off with a joke, but their smile never fully matched their eyes. They weren't happy to see me. But as time grew on, people began to recognize me and warm up to my strange presence. You began show me you weren't a merely place of commerce, but a lively community - one tightly knitted group which I was soon being woven into. The feeling was alien, like an ill-fitting shirt. I've never had something like this, always drifting on the outskirts of groups but too shy to let myself be drawn in. By the time the attention is on me, I'm already gone. It was with great dread that I soon sensed an unknown shift in the winds, raising the hairs on my neck. For the first time ever, there were visitors in search of me. "You know I'll be here," I'd joke. Well, that was more of a reality than I'd expected. Too much of my identity was being attached to your hoarder's haven, so much so that I was afraid it would leave a mark. But the worst thing of all: I was feeling happy. I found myself looking forward to these weekends, eagerly awaiting the chance to turn the key and unlock your doors, entering into a whimsical time capsule. I've never been good at dropping my defenses. Fight or flight are the only responses I know for these kinds of situations. How could I ever fight you? All I can do is escape before I let you peel back my remaining layers and expose my vulnerability. Run, little rabbit, run. The tiger is coming. Can you forgive me for turning off your signs and not being there to light them? Would you understand if I didn't drive by your street? I don't know where these feet will take me, but maybe one day they will haunt your doorstep once again. |
And I do believe it's true That there are roads left in both of our shoes But if the silence takes you Then I hope it takes me too |
| Here I am again. Do any of you sit in dark rooms and listen to moody music as you ponder life? Or am I just a weirdo? When I lived with my sister, I would sit on the couch with my laptop as the sole light in the house. I hear that's bad for your eyes. But it's more economical not to have everything lit up, right? That's the excuse I'd make when she came home and scolded me for sitting in the dark. "Hey, I'm saving power ya know!" She wasn't a fan. Why are people afraid of the dark? I mean, that's a silly question. We're all wired to fear things we cannot see, shapes we cannot define, threats we cannot predict. The unknown is a terrifying subject. Humanity has always feared what it cannot understand, which is why we have countless wars and racism and endless amounts of suffering caused by ignorance. But darkness... Darkness is a blanket. A soothing void which eliminates visual noise, distractions that would drag our attention away. But of course, it is also a canvas. We project things onto blank spaces, deep seated anxieties, subconscious worries, nebulous terrors, you name it. I understand people who fear the shadows. But do they understand me, who wishes to wrap myself in them and hide away from the visible world? Is it a strange request? Perhaps. I am an eccentric individual, after all. This type of setting is the best one for my creativity, I would argue. I am most at ease in my dim surroundings, free to focus on my projects as the screen sucks in all my attention, pale hands reaching out from the umbra while I pour out the animus within. Let me brood. Leave me to my devices, do not cast light upon my twisted form. I am a creature of the night. |
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