transient

I find it terribly hard to comprehend the reality that objects, things that don't make a difference in this world, last beyond the people that create them; exist years after what gave them meaning is only a memory, if that. There's no life there. But we give them life through the memories and emotions imposed on them. Why do we even have to do that? What makes it so hard for humans to just let go. Because we are our memories. (I recall reading some philosopher that said that, don't remember who.) Without them, who are we? Who can prove that we existed? But they're just memories. They make us nostalgic and in a lot of cases hold us back and we have to tire ourselves fighting to rise above it. Even happy memories tend to make us wish we could relive the past again, even if we're happy with things now. I use 'we' a lot. I really mean "I". But I know lots of people who feel that way.

carved on wood
x + y
up in the heights
creaky tower overlooking green
held up against time and elements
for all to see

but it's no longer true
so many lies etched
outliving truth

How can mere objects last longer than real, supposedly true feelings? Longer than the real, meaningful, intertwining of two lives? People who walk, think, feel, make a difference, and who are so important don't last that long. It's not fair. Tonight, I can't get over how unjust that is. I can count on my sofa to last longer than anything people-related. And I want to hang on to people and not lose touch. And I feel like I'm missing out if I can't be with one friend or another.

But when you hang on to a memento, there's really nothing there anymore. My mind places meaning and memory...projects it onto a lifeless souvenir. That doesn't mean anything. It's really not fair.