All things move towards their end

Listening to the rain beating its tattoo on my skylight, I know the night outside is a cold one for some, warm with nostalgia for others. The gutters will be flooded with petrol rainbows; the drains with dreams and reality, mingled as one in a skirling blaze of colour.

I like to sit with my back to the wall, watching dark shadow-flecks fall through the glass and into my room. Light to dark, nimbus eye – eyrie heart. Dry as bone, and always home.

Rain can carry the trace of tears away, with no one the wiser. It’s the best place to be, when the sky is a vast mirror for the mind.

Today, life (once again, with feeling) became all too real.

Just when things had settled down and I’d got my breath back. Change is a shift in the air, as of pigeons whirling overhead in their little v’s of praise to the clouds; it’s the movement of light over the bedroom wall, from morning peach to afternoon gold, to evening brass. At least I was semi-aware this time. I’ve had my ear to the ground, when not watching the sky.

My workplace is a poor dilapidated thing now, but I can’t help giving her walls a forlorn pat, each time I traipse up and down the winding staircases that could go on forever – were it not for floor after floor emptying out, becoming a graveyard of slow-shifting air and dust, memories cocooned in the minds of those who knew the place for what it was. Three years have shown me more than I could hope to learn outside of her walls – about life, love, death, and all the bits muddled in between. Most of all, more important to me than I had realized in the early days, it is Family. With all the knots and bits of fluff this entails.

I’m already on the hunt for new employment, preferably in the same field. It’s been my home where all others fell away. and was a focus for my mind last year. I don’t think I can stay to the end, to see those gates close for us one last time.

Perhaps I’ll finally answer that throaty call of the world, with travel and exploration. I might find the jungle temple of a childhood dream, the redrock canyon too, with its endless blood-lust sun. Travel and writing have been mainstays since before anorexia made its icy nest in my heart. I’ve waited long enough… And yet. I am a curious beast.
I still want to know the punchline.

Though I swore I would never enter the capital on a one-way ticket, there is a chance open to me. I may yet take it.

If I happen to have phenomenal good luck in the next few months, things will work out. At the very least, there is still the South and family. This isn’t a preferable option; I moved to leave the ghosts behind. But perhaps the last five years have finally absolved me of their presence.

I live in an echo chamber of thoughts, tinged with blue and silver. Stars and moths, darkest night. It’s a good place to be.

Wandering, wondering.

Who knows. Last year was such a balls-up, perhaps this year will be mine, by way of compensation. But I dare not presume any more than I already have.

Wish me luck, my friends. The game is on 😉


4 thoughts on “All things move towards their end

  1. Karen says:

    “Let us not look back in anger, nor forward in fear, but around in awareness.” (James Thurber)
    I know many who agree that 2012 could have been better, many who consider 2013 as disastrous, and all of them agree that 2014 is going to be far better. Therefore, good luck, my friend. 🙂

  2. Jessica West says:

    Best wishes to you, liebling! May the path you put your feet upon hold you steady and keep you within the embrace of the beam. There’s always the ka’ tet. It’s not what it was, but not because it’s gone. It’s not gone, it’s simply grown.

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