My New Year’s Eve
was spent
sheepishly collecting fragmented recollections
to confirm
that my dignity
had truly died.
Soberly,
I perused
the bars and clubs,
and aimlessly walked
beneath crowded streets,
feeling like my life
had somehow
been shifted
into slow motion,
while the rest of the world,
engaging
in joyous celebration
and ffestivities,
was knocked out of rhythm
from my existence.
How in the world
could the clock strike midnight?
How could people embrace, and kiss
at the dropping of the ball?
How could they laugh and smiile,
And wish each other a “Happy New Year!”?
More importantly,
how could those god damn traffic lights
have the audacity
to continue changing
from red to ggreen to yellow,
then back to red again.
My dignity had just died.
My dignity had just died.
My dignity was dead.
My dignity was gone.
In the days and weeks
that followed
the death of my dignity,
I noticed
that the expressed nuances of life faded
from colloquial to iconic,
like something mystical,
or an intangible object
of deep longing.
And recurrent images
of those fucking
obnoxious traffic lights
insensitively
switching colors
replay in my mind
to remind me
over and over
in the greens (go),
the reds (stop),
and the yellows (be careful),
that my dignity
had died.
Memories
of the ddays
before my dignity had died
run through my mind
like old
home movies
with centuries
of black and white film
stuck on repeat,
and slowly fraying,
around the edges,
because of the staunch demands
of time.
It is life’s
harsh and cruel
irony
that these images,
once my greatest joy,
have now become
inflicters
of the greatest pain
that I
have ever felt.
Like a sound wave
of pain,
so powerful,
that it has silenced
any pleasure
that my heart
has ever heard.
So now I know,
it is true
life is a bitch.
The expiration
of my dignity
has made me
overly aware
of the earth
turning on its axis.
As spring approached,
for the very first time,
I noticed
the way
that flowers
seem reluctant
to bloom,
as if uncertain
of their
welcome invitation.
Such a cruel reality,
that the flowers,
unwelcome
and uninvited
yet would choose
to bloom,
and nature
would choose
to carry on,
running
further and further
away
from the day
that my dignity died.
And still,
to this day,
those
damn
traffic lights
keep
switching colors.
Share:
Man,
This was a DAMN for me!
I absolutely love reading your mind.
Brilliant is an understatement.
Impressed.
Good stufg