"my life oscillates like a pendulum between three magnets"
she said once.
Up and down, and left and right and on and on and out of sight.
The period of the pendulum is irregular.
And that is why I can never anticipate my life swinging the other way. For moments within a suspension of fantasy I can believe I want nothing else--that I am safe and above all shadow.
And at the next, it is taken away. All demolished. By none other than myself and my traitorous personality. I sink into the dark again, nothing left behind me.
she never learns.
It leaves a sort of ghost in its wake, a dull throbbing darkness that fades but never really vanishes. A stain. I can scour with all my tears, but it stays.
Till my heart is black.
I'm crossing, border to border, north to south to east to west. Oftentimes I find myself wishing that life would simply--freeze. Stop short, stop within this moment of happiness, and linger in it until the world's close. Let me revel in it. Stop sending me through pain and joy and pain, cyclically, cycling, circling. Stop sending me in circles.
Oftentimes I find myself crying suddenly wondering--wasn't I laughing just moments ago? Is this goodbye to innocence, innocence where joy could last forever? Why won't the world stop turning? Why won't the past just die?
I like how, if you trace the vertical displacement of a single point on the circumference of a rotating circle along a horizontal time axis, you find yourself a sine graph. Up and down. Up and down, just like life. Up and down, but round and round.
Sometimes, I wish it were so patterned, so easy to predict and pre-empt. I wish there were an equation for the unfolding of time. I wish there were some way to know when the world is about to invert upon you, and fling you deep down into a trough.
But the period of the pendulum is irregular.
And still life swings, unstoppable by all.
