Song’s End   Leave a comment

 

I don’t know how I’m feeling.  I don’t really want to keep moving forward.  I don’t have it in me to fall back.  I’m not confused or delusional enough to think that the old life I lived was easy or fruitful.  Is blasting off into space an option?  I realize that’s what my youth was much like, at least in the form of attempt.  But what am I to do now that all my steps are to the side, back and forth and not nearly in any sort of coherent direction?  If you’re not moving for the sake of advancing what really is the point of it anyway?

I see everyone else, with their trials and their victories, making the most of things so that they have purpose and all that I have is this, these writings and these ideas about what I should and shouldn’t be doing.  I’m a thinker more than a writer, but I still have some daydreamer in me who hopes to measure up enough to be remembered when I am long gone and for that I realize I need something tangible.  So I tap thoughts out on the keyboard and display my name at the bottom praying to the gods of passion and art that someone will one day stumble upon me the way I once did Kerouac and use me for fuel.

But I am not so much a dreamer that I believe anyone will find me of value in the here and now and because of that I don’t much attach to this lifetime.  It’s really just about gaining perspective, choosing experiences over others so that I have a broader palette, strokes wide and varied in which to entice my future readers.  I tap out my code on this keyboard so that maybe somewhere down the line some eager soul will be able to unravel me in all my clustered mess of sadness, blurred rational and wild-eyed wonder and see within all of the madness some inner beauty that even I have not been able, with this mighty grip of introspection, to witness for myself.

And if they do, hopefully they will also have spied upon this bit here and know that I wish them to share what they have discovered with anyone left who ever has loved me because I am so very sorry that I was unable to convey that this life was enough to hold my attention.  It was not their lack of anything.  It was sincerely just my wandering eyes and shifting feet, the side to side motions of a girl unable to keep the beat of any drummer who bade me to keep a straight line.  Never moving forward, never falling back, all this time I guess I’ve just been dancing to my own tune and now perhaps this particular song is near end.  I assure you though, my music will play on.  I will keep dancing on my own.

Jen Czahur

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