frost once wrote about fire and ice.
the ending of the world and such.
while walking my dog
i thought of another duality:
flow and freeze.
i've been having trouble
remembering my life.
it's almost as though i hadn't lived it.
sometimes a fragment would float up
and i'd examine it-
the shape of the bannister in a building i'd dormed in
or what i wore the first morning i'd arrived
at college sophomore year,
lying in the dew of a golf course-
stuff like that, with no context,
no meaning,
just a distant sadness.
i wonder why i can't recall more,
especially about people, and
stories, and how they broke my heart
or i broke theirs.
am i heartless?
do i even have a soul?
memory for me is sometimes like a flow
and in the flow of the moment,
when the world is stirred by your current
or colored streams swim through you
everything is alive and vivid and real.
but a flow never remembers things outside of itself-
(insert famous tale of not even stepping in a river once).
other times it is a crystal.
a dead thing.
but perfectly capturing the contours and details
of a moment.
sharp, but separated from time.
seesaws have a fulcrum.
frost's dualities were tied to destruction.
what is the sticking point
for me?
if i could find it,
i would break it
or melt it.
it's like the horcrux
keeping me from
killing me
and living me.
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