Friday, March 4, 2011

replicas.

i have always said that i wouldn't be a writer if it weren't for all the ways in which i've helped break my own heart. even when loves & friends & jobs have let me down, in the end i have always had to accept—albeit begrudgingly—that it had something to do with me. ruins don't become ruins by only one hand.

in my early twenties my world was boundless. and there were no real mistakes...there was only the sun setting on one day and the sun rising on another. life was all explorations and explosions. it was so good, even when it wasn't great. in the thousands of days to follow, my world began to chip away at itself, become smaller. in the past few years, the way the sun sets and rises on my days is so different. it seems strange for a woman of only 34 to look back so longingly at what was only a decade ago, give or take. but how i miss being free. and as much as i try to create freedom in the present, and as much as it can appear beautiful at times, i feel, all too often, that it's an imitation of the real thing.

i wonder, after a certain point, if anything can be new. if, after our twenties, life becomes an attempt at replication. if everything we do is simply—though never simple—a way of trying to rebuild the freedom that has crumbled along our way. instead of job-hopping, we get one job and indoctrinate ourselves to the religion of stability; instead of many loves, we look for one and hope the moments of bliss, though fewer...or just different?...will get us through the years; instead of running wild, we have children, and their joy becomes our own.

one thing that remains, a pillar, is my wondering. some days i look at it, only it; other days i look at all that crumbles around it.

the romans made bronze replicas of greek statues. many of them were eventually melted down, and the metal reused.




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