A long happy day after long, maybe someone had blessed me with blessings..maybe it was the woman up there in stars, maybe it was 'Grandmom'
Oh I miss her, I don't know what it would have been like if I had seen her or hugged her. But I missed her for sure.
It was a happy -happy day, just perfect !
But I missed 'him' . Yearned for his hug, for his presence, for the warmth of his breath, for his voice...probably everything.
I was drawn into yearning for him, solitude too broke me with it's yearning. .
I stood motionless, my mind went berserk, soul went to rattles and I froze into cotton like ice; touch me and I'll collapse.
The yearning sadness of a farewell stole plaintively across my heart as I recalled those sweet sessions when sI stood with him in the shadowy upper reaches of the wall size mirror listening to his murmured tale of promises. I felt that happiness being furtively withdrawn, stolen by sly hands which I could not resist. No longer would he feed the deep longing in my heart; no more could I escape, through him, those bleak lonelinesses which sometimes stole upon me.
A crude way to put the whole thing is that our presence culture is, both develeopmentally and historically, adolescent. And since adolescence is acknowledged to be the single most stressful and frightening period of human development – the stage when adulthood we claim to crave begins to present itself as a real and narrowing system of responsibilities and limitation (taxes, death) and when we yearn inside for a return to the same childish oblivion we pretend to scorn – it’s not difficult to see why we as a culture are so susceptible to art and entertainment whose primary function is escape, i. e. fantasy, adrenaline, spectacle, romance, etc
Oh I miss her, I don't know what it would have been like if I had seen her or hugged her. But I missed her for sure.
It was a happy -happy day, just perfect !
But I missed 'him' . Yearned for his hug, for his presence, for the warmth of his breath, for his voice...probably everything.
I was drawn into yearning for him, solitude too broke me with it's yearning. .
I stood motionless, my mind went berserk, soul went to rattles and I froze into cotton like ice; touch me and I'll collapse.
“The feeling, the irrepressible yearning to return, suddenly reveals to her the existence of the past, the power of the past, of her past; in the house of her life there are windows now, windows opening to the rear, onto what she has experienced; from now on her existence will be inconceivable without these windows.”
― Milan Kundera, Ignorance
― Milan Kundera, Ignorance
The yearning sadness of a farewell stole plaintively across my heart as I recalled those sweet sessions when sI stood with him in the shadowy upper reaches of the wall size mirror listening to his murmured tale of promises. I felt that happiness being furtively withdrawn, stolen by sly hands which I could not resist. No longer would he feed the deep longing in my heart; no more could I escape, through him, those bleak lonelinesses which sometimes stole upon me.
A crude way to put the whole thing is that our presence culture is, both develeopmentally and historically, adolescent. And since adolescence is acknowledged to be the single most stressful and frightening period of human development – the stage when adulthood we claim to crave begins to present itself as a real and narrowing system of responsibilities and limitation (taxes, death) and when we yearn inside for a return to the same childish oblivion we pretend to scorn – it’s not difficult to see why we as a culture are so susceptible to art and entertainment whose primary function is escape, i. e. fantasy, adrenaline, spectacle, romance, etc
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