It’s that time of year...
No one really knows what is being referred to when this is said. But September more so than December or January is that time of year.
The light outside is for sure getting softer and softer. There are very few things you can be sure of around this time of year. The light is one of them. Or kids all around the world being introduced to the concept “school” for the first time in their lives, sure. Or like how we were building castles around our lovely lives around this time last year. How we wrote that text to save the world. And how we saved the world. How the castle stayed. How you showed the way to a stranger lost on a bike around the dunes. How we were still in our bikinis. How we didn’t know how things would end around this time last year. Does September mean October? Not really. September is a vague concept in which the fear of losing and the excitement for the new is mutually contained. Even September doesn’t know what September is.
I wrote one confessional love e-mail this week. Alongside a list of things to remember to do, like feeding the dog with yoghurt when she refuses to eat her own food, when the rest of the household is away for a week. I wrote one poem. I also wrote “everyone resembles to the person they keep a distance with the most”. I wrote about separation, and how we still need to come together to perform it. I wrote “or the negation of the rational” next to a passage in Camus’ Sisyphus that read: But what is absurd is the confrontation of the irrational. I wrote “I need you, to be able to write” to my only friend whom I would say this to. And I did. And it felt good.
She then asked me what I had for breakfast. This morning was an important breakfast. It was a goodbye breakfast. And it felt good.
Fear of not losing. Because we stay.
Because we keep.
I once wrote: maybe we keep too much. I was right. I then let one thing at a time to reveal itself in their function and feeling. After all, I’m getting old. We all are. Maybe we rush too much. Maybe not anymore. Maybe we are just in love.
Consider the stranger not having a bad day but being in love next time you see them acting out on the street.
I then eliminated. I then still kept everything.
For instance I cry when I’m in love.
We keep just enough.