To Moments
CHAPTER 13
To moments…
I run away all the time, but every time I run away I come back. Somehow, I always come back for the same reason I ran away. I run away thinking my problems will disappear, and I come back because the problems stay with me when I leave. I take them with me, wherever I go. Yes, of course, I live for myself but other people are involved. I have sisters and a mom who, I feel, need me. And if you’ve ever been to New York, or are from here, I’m sure you can agree with me that the city has a magnetic pull that nowhere else can match. I was born and raised in NYC. I used to truly dislike this city, until I realized I had been trying so hard to go against this magnetic pull. Now every time I’m not looking forward to going home, as soon as I see those lights, I’m pulled back in and cradled by this erratic, crazy, warm, frustrating, calming energy. It’s the city that never sleep, and why would you with all that energy flowing through your veins and keeping you electrified. Why would you fall asleep and allow yourself to be unplugged from that energy source? I never get home sick, but on the flip side, I’m usually not sad when my vacation ends. I don’t know what that is, I’ve always been that way. I can’t relate to missing someone or something. It sounds insensitive or maybe I’m overly rational in my way of thinking, but I know that place still exists and I know you’re still alive. I know I can always see you again and I know I can always go back. This isn’t to say that I’m a cold-hearted bitch, I miss moments. I miss the way you hug, I miss the smell of the beach, I miss seeing your face in the bonfire light. I’ve realized I miss moments, I miss memories. So, if you ask me if I’ve missed you, no, probably not, but I miss walking the streets of japan with you, I miss driving you to the drive through when you were high, I miss the conversations we used to have around the fire and I miss staying up until 6 am doing nothing. I miss moments. Those you can’t recreate. You can’t go back. You can’t recreate a moment, that feeling in the moment; that was a once in a lifetime feeling. And I guess if you asked me what the meaning of life is, why I keep going; it’s because I’m searching for that moment, that memory, that feeling. It’s a drug, the way I felt then, is gone; but sometimes I come close and that’s all I need until the next cliff edge feeling. I escape, in search of that feeling, I escape to replace the feeling I’m having in that moment. I don’t always run away physically, a lot of times I run away emotionally. I am constantly thinking about nothing, always. I think about “had I said that, would this have happened”. Thinking is my way of escaping the physical world and creating a new one in my head. I watch shows where the characters have worse lives than I do to remind myself that it’s not that bad. I don’t think it’s healthy for me to compare myself to people who don’t exist. I started singing as a way to escape, and I refused to sing covers because I didn’t want to sing someone else’s story. I don’t want to assume I know how the writer or artist was feeling, in that moment. I don’t want to remanufacture their moment. I like to listen, to feel and maybe get a glimpse into their soul. I don’t want to participate in their escape, because that is entirely their own moment, their own memory.
One of the wild ones,
The one who runs to you