• Vol. 06
  • Chapter 03
Image by

Thoughts on (not) letting go (v.2018/19)

Rues and woes like ankle-chains// Yes, it’s the new year and all that but the dark isn’t temporal, neither are thoughts and memories and pain and love and fear. I can’t be a different person the minute the clock announces the seismic midnight. The (re)constructive force of time is great, I agree – healer and hurler in equal measure – but my mental cogs don’t submit to it// The twelve-month expanse that lies uncharted is another well-disguised continuum. I seek the comfort of seeing the new year as a schism of new-and-old, past-and-future, progress-and-regress. Clarity has never been my forte though, the shift from “8” to “9” a close dyadic interplay// New beginnings, blank pages, fresh starts are too clean-cut; my broken mesh of thoughts has too many ridges from bits chipped off to not bleed a little with every scrape. Blood-specks and unclaspable ankle-chains aren’t the only things I carry across the proverbial threshold though// There’s one promise that time does uphold. The chains clang and tug as reminders of movement; a comforting weight for when my feet are too slow and chafed to register their motion// At occasional/frequent stand-stills, I glance back over my shoulder, the trail of red dots like measuring tape// The staccato of new year cheer and optimism makes sense when I see how far I stand from some of the larger specks.