Fields of ****/or ****/ or ****!

Revisit. The dissociated memories coming back together at one powerfully overwhelming moment.

They hit with such force as would knock you off your feet no matter how firm you think you are or have been standing. It just takes a simple trigger. Something you never thought would link these enormous worlds you had escaped (or thought you had escaped). Just one song. Or one picture. Or a note that got stuck between your desk and the wall. The silly little things that you would deem safe enough to keep and not throw miles away from you. The harmless remains.

You do realize that music is a force that's usually under-credited, right? I mean personally I have demons dwelling in one too many songs. But being the masochist that I am I always throw myself right in their path and when I get this horribly sick and painful feeling of being micro-dissected internally at levels that fall out of the reach of modern science and operations, I stay put, swimming in this "field of mold" instead of running for the hills and playing it safe.

I can give up on people. I can give up on trying. I can even possibly give up on hoping, on fighting... But never. ever. ever. give up on feeling. It's the one true and sure thing I have. It is pure and honest and does not usually require reciprocation. Reciprocation would be much appreciated and greatly enjoyed. But it's not a precondition. At least I have the feeling itself. and it is FULL- it is complete- it has achieved 100% status and is not something uncertain that hurts others or leads both me and them blindfolded until they've wandered off the cliff to certain destruction.

The world is kind somehow. It has to be. Looking at things for the first time we reject them, we dismiss them as unfair and scream and run away and campaign and set up blogs to write about them and, and, and... But what if were to give ourselves a little bit of peace- the one found in a deep breath? Could we find other elements that have been sent to lessen the impact of painful occurrences? Why do you think there are musical prodigies? To write up a song that will pull us from drowning in misery and lead us to shore. To give us the memory that's stuck between the wall and the desk. Unlike yours truly, some things have a purpose for existing.
At least I need to have that belief for reassurance.

But always remember, that which you may be swimming happily in at a given time, collecting little harmlessnesses- memories- without knowing it, will eventually come back to haunt you at another. When that happens, brace yourself and confront it because it is a form of worship. A beautifully achingly nostalgic one.

Ain- What the heck? Here's to life.