For several months now, I’ve been overwhelmed. Exasperated. Saddened. By what, exactly? By the state of the world. Tragedies fade with time, and most people will retrieve some semblance of normalcy. The cogs of the world must keep spinning. And yet these feelings linger. When I was most overwhelmed by disbelief and sorrow, just days after the Orlando incident, I did all that I could to contain my thoughts. So I wrote something.
I don’t know them. All I know are their names and faces and a sentence or two about who they are. Were. Like that could ever be enough to sum up a human being. I feel myself becoming numb to it all. It’s been a few days now since it happened and my thoughts will finally move on to other things with some gentle nudging. Sometimes rough. But they cycle back to this, oh how they cycle.
When I feel, I feel deeply. I feel with my whole body. I feel with my past, with my present, with vague notions of my future. Whatever that will look like. But who knows that? No one does. I’m sure those people had seen other tragedies in the news and thought to themselves, “that won’t ever happen to me,” as they held themselves tight.
We cling desperately to this notion, that nothing that bad, that tragic, that inconceivable, could ever happen to us. But those people were wrong. To be at the wrong place at the wrong time, to feel your existence unraveling as a stranger pulls the thread. I just can’t imagine. Maybe I don’t want to.
People still find comfort in small things somehow. Like lovers dying together, now buried beside one another. Maybe this means something and maybe it doesn’t. We wrap as many things around ourselves so that maybe, just maybe, nothing like this will ever touch us.
xx bits of prose & whimsy