Thursday, September 20, 2012

Ex Post Facto

Somewhere, someone is reading your words and thinking about you. Words are tricky little things--like pieces of skin you can shed and leave lying around. Weeks, months, or years later, you come back to find the molted words and marvel at how something can still be you and yet be so detached from your current self.

Somewhere, someone is steadily growing enamored with you your words, without realizing the pointlessness of pining for something that someone has long left behind. What kind of fool falls in love with snakeskin? And yet that someone reads on, treading carefully so as not to disturb, trying intently to piece the hazy fragments together into something closely resembling you--or at least a shell of who you were.

Somewhere, someone is going through the cycle of your thoughts and emotions, and wishing they'd been able to do something about it. Like anyone could ever keep snakes from shedding, or keep autumn leaves on trees. What's done is done, and someone who has changed is harder to bring back than someone who has simply gone. They fail to see that displacement is most often replacement, too. Snakeskin, autumn leaves--lizard tails, even. It's less rocket science and more 2nd-grade biology.

To be more precise about things, then: somewhere, someone is thinking about who you were, holding on to your snakeskin words--not wanting to bring you back, but simply hoping to be led to where you are now.

4 comments:

citybuoy said...

Ugh... I love this. I think I just climaxed.

"What kind of fool falls in love with snakeskin?"

This line. I hate you for this line.

Rz Fortajada said...

Uhhm, thanks? I hate you for entire posts, so... Haha. Natatamaan lang. :P

Anonymous said...

You have mighty, powerful words here. This was a joy to read.

Rz Fortajada said...

Thanks, kind stranger. :p

LinkWithin

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...

ShareThis

labels are for posts, not for people

Copyscape

Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape