We drove to Mount Washington yesterday
and while driving we passed an abandoned building
At one time it may have been a convenience store
Its roof is caving in, the walls are pushing outward,
the paint is badly peeling leaving scars from weather
It looked tired and sad. I felt a strong feeling of nostalgia
As though the definition of the word was tangible-
as I literally felt the building’s pain of memory, and how it grasped
at the driving vehicles to help push it back to when it was healthy.
Back when trucks stopped, letting out footsteps that walked into
its doorway to view its craft, but that was then, and so we too
left it behind, yet I thought about it and carried a portion
of it with me. Maybe it’s just rotting wood.
Maybe next time I won’t pass. Maybe I’ll stop and walk into
its failing structure to feel anything else it might want me to feel.
It’s 4:20 am
I’m in my home town
Nothing but triggers
I did my best
I had not a memory
But an actual cause
standing behind me
in the liquor store
-Followed me in
Now that I think about it
it’s as if my own damn writing
had been trying to warn me
Solemnly the boy walked alone wanting to know how memories could sing. He passed himself, his grave, his smile, his teeth grinding. Is it not nice following what we once never knew. A tree shivered off itself to become more, having seen the boy. ‘Wish to know about memories?’ asked the tree. ‘I do.’ replied the boy. ‘Come here. I’ve just ruined myself for you.’ the boy walked on.
The boy climbed out of his window and onto the large tree and quickly made his way to the ground. He ran to the woods. He needed to sit on his rock overlooking the river. He pushed his small frame as hard and fast as it could carry him. The words were rimming in circles within his mind and now gathering pace toward the tip of his tongue. Not yet. Not yet! You will only speak them first once. Finally, his rock in view, an overwhelming feeling of joy perched in his chest; he reached the top of his rock and lay on his back to catch his breath. Sitting up, viewing the river, he spoke the words which were brimming in circles within his mind and pushing their way to the tip of his tongue- No one had given these words to him and he had never heard anything like them. He opened his mouth, ready to watch them fly, “Can memories live beyond thought?” The tiny hairs stood on his arms. A leaf fluttered slightly more north from the smallest push of air. The leaf landed nearly silently into the river. Having changed the world.
I’ll see you when you remember me- the boy thought- Be a mindless boy- be a mindless boy. A leaf landed in the pond. The pond rippled. The boy in the water wavered. The boy outside the water tilted his head, ‘but they said only true words hurt.’ He then reached toward the rippling face of himself with intent to disturb.