There’s a poetry in yesterday I can’t seem to shake. It’s been smoothed over, regurgitated, every feeling inspected and laid into place. What was before becomes accepted, I can talk about it now.
But not today. I don’t talk about today.
I can’t. There’s chaos in front of me - the heat’s too loud, the music too raw and my stomach unsettled. I want to eat, I want to talk to people, I want some quiet and I want to shape my day. It’s not a complete 24 hours yet - what’s there to recount? I haven’t yet fallen asleep thinking about the little details and sorting which matter and which don’t. I haven’t yet approved today - what’s there to talk about, really?
Someone close to my heart asked me - what are you doing, living in the past? And then someone else, also close to my heart, asked me the same thing. My defenses flashed bright and I know what they were asking is true - why do I live in the past? Why am I telling stories of yesterday when today is here too?
I used to reassure myself that no matter what happened, it was all a story. I might write it one day. What’s a story without a beginning? But really, what’s a story without an end? I live in these cycles of beginnings and ends and the further away from me they are, the prettier of a package they come in. Uncomfortable moments take on a soft edge, the noises fade and I don’t really remember the pain. It’s like a woman giving birth - if she remembered the experience she’d never have a child again.
I think I balance the past as heavier than today. But in a way, I know - I really do - the past doesn’t matter anymore. It’s the experience of now that was supposed count. I’ve played this narrative in my head over and over again - how do I make today count? Or can the memory of it become my present tomorrow?
I doubt it’s black and white. But if I’ve been asked once, twice, thrice probably, is yesterday more here than today is?
I’ll keep thinking and touching what’s around me now, finding that balance everyone seems to have a different dose of. And maybe tonight when I go to sleep, I’ll remember these thoughts and tie them up into a little neat package. I’ll increase the volume on my conclusion and quiet the discomfort of not feeling here nor there.
And then I’ll fall asleep and start again.
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Beautiful, dreamy piece. The cycle section made me think about the enso https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ens%C5%8D no beginning, no end, simplicity. Loved it Yehudis!
As long as dwelling on your yesterdays provides me with delightful reading like this in the present, I'm okay with it.