Mags

Me: The inherent grief of survival. Having to keep moving even though everything is falling apart around you. Loosing everything and having to start over again and again. Perseverance not as simply a virtue but a lifestyle. The world re-invents itself around you as you watch. Do you change as well or do you stay the same? How heavy is the past? How heavy is the past of the past? You movement is only in one direction and it's so fast. Time passes without your notice. You can't keep up. Run faster or lay down and accept the end. Is immortality within mortal flesh a blessing or a curse? Is something wrong with you because of the disconnect, or is something wrong with the world? You're legacy is everything and nothing at all. Death is a stranger, and your oldest friend. Choosing again and again to be human, instead of an ancient monument of the past. Do you reject the past that has abandoned you and become something new, or do you follow the path already tread? The people around you are children. You are the embodiment of inheritance and ancestry. A living museum. Choosing to spend you're time well even though you have endless amounts of it. You can never go home, not because of distance or circumstance, but because home no longer exists. The moon and the sun are foreign to you, the lay of the land is a recent catastrophe, it's been that way for thousands of years. Your father and your father's father created the first crafts and languages. What have you done? You feel so old, but the young don't notice. They can't tell. Wounds of the body don't mean much, but what about the mind? How do you heal the unseen? The unheard? No one remembers the terrors that haunt you. Your old foes and friends are children's bedtime stories. You are an origin point for everything with no end. Every life is a tragedy in one way or another, yours is life after life stitched together. Your memoriam is a history book, your legacy is the language that everyone stopped speaking hundreds of years ago. Your voice sounds like the voice of people who did terrible things with their eternity. Your face reminds everyone of the people who were virtuous for their eternity. You are both. You are neither. How do you explain to them the true length of conflict? The depth of tragedy? How do you tell them that their actions will affect things lifetimes after they die, and you will be forced to watch it all burn? The man who raised you is loosing his mind because eternity became too much and you worry that someday it will become to0 much for you too. You can't loose them. They want more then anything to loose themselves. A pillar that has weathered this many storms must stand for something. A tree's roots rip up the ground around it. Goodbyes become easy out of sheer practice. It's numbing. Don't let it take away you're humanity. Don't let time win. You're still you. After all this you're still you. Even if it looks different. Even if it feels different. You're still you.