The Phone Seldom Rings
The phone seldom rings.
Three years have passed since I left
People move on, Life goes on.
I see my planet with new eyes; nothing is the same, even though I have not moved.
I often feel like the proverbial 800 lb gorilla; or Moses as people step out of my way to avoid associating with me. (Think parting of the sea of people)
I have backed away from most people, sometimes for self preservation, other times to avoid embarrassing others with my presence when I sense their discomfort.
Folk that I was once close to struggle with my presence, even telephonically.
Folk remember who I was then, not what I am becoming and want to remember who I was.
It is a death of sorts, the subjugation of my original form, into something new and different, alien to most. I give folk time to grieve, to swallow what has been transpiring.
Yet I feel present, yet absent in the same moment.
They see what is in front of them, yet search for what was, not finding it, they move on
.
I too see them as they once were, I search for what was, not finding it, I move on.
We were once friends, now strangers, holding fragments of what was
.
Yet I find myself hoping in time, those fragments can be the beginnings of new relationships
.
But for now,
The phone seldom rings.
People move on, life goes on.
I go on.
Three years have passed since I left
People move on, Life goes on.
I see my planet with new eyes; nothing is the same, even though I have not moved.
I often feel like the proverbial 800 lb gorilla; or Moses as people step out of my way to avoid associating with me. (Think parting of the sea of people)
I have backed away from most people, sometimes for self preservation, other times to avoid embarrassing others with my presence when I sense their discomfort.
Folk that I was once close to struggle with my presence, even telephonically.
Folk remember who I was then, not what I am becoming and want to remember who I was.
It is a death of sorts, the subjugation of my original form, into something new and different, alien to most. I give folk time to grieve, to swallow what has been transpiring.
Yet I feel present, yet absent in the same moment.
They see what is in front of them, yet search for what was, not finding it, they move on
.
I too see them as they once were, I search for what was, not finding it, I move on.
We were once friends, now strangers, holding fragments of what was
.
Yet I find myself hoping in time, those fragments can be the beginnings of new relationships
.
But for now,
The phone seldom rings.
People move on, life goes on.
I go on.
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