Apology as time-negating. Apology as limit.

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Hey all,

I’ve noticed a pattern in my WordPress activity: I disappear from the site for considerable lengths of time, only to re-emerge at random to post poetry and journaling caked with an unrelated but pretty (and – admittedly –  bordering on pretentious) photograph I grabbed straight from Pinterest. And despite the time between my visits, I always expect a small echo back at me from all of you, my followers.

But this has been my longest hiatus yet. Not only have I felt uninspired to write, I also got swept away in an avalanche of college projects and work-related duties.

So with that out of the way, tonight I’m jazzed up on caffeine, and I finally have something to say.

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This past year was the first time I felt like I stuck my hands through someone’s life, the lives of multiple people I love, and created an irrevocable rift. Something resembling the planet Neptune’s storm, with all its roaring yawn and unreachable blue. When my mind plays over the hurt, there’s a surge within me and I feel that if I strain hard enough, at just the right angle, the whole memory will give and come crashing in on itself. And everything will be as it should be. Okay and still.

This past year was also the first time someone broke my heart, and I experienced the halt and quicksand pull of having having me, my whole life, shut off from someone else’s life. And the feeling of trying to trying to reach out to that person, but also the hopeful-me, the one that now spends eternity under the seams of those short months. As if aching could peel back a phone’s dead-end static, plow straight through and you’d call out to me and I’d be the same all over again, new.

But once I’ve eschewed fantasies of making things right, or having things be made right to me, I always come up wanting to be healed with an apology – unasked for, at once direct and sincere. Or to apologize and have the rift painted over in white. As if past actions could be once again linked to the actor at the altar of this stilted limbo and somehow be absolved.

I’ve found, sadly, that it never works that way. When apologizing or being apologized to, after being washed over in a sense of yes, I’m still left feeling as though I’ve lost an arm or some other part of me. I believe that it’s true that no amount of sorry can seal a gap, once made, but it can act as a balm to the memory of a thing. In short, in instances of collateral-damage, I think apologies immediately snap the dislocation of memory and present-day back into place. The action is defined as a thing both parties would reverse, if they could. An apology, however, does little in the way of healing all of the malformed ideas, the subsequent wounds taken on in the mind of the person hurt. All of the doubts and hatreds and the image from the moment you were hurt.

I don’t know how to heal these things, and a shout of sorry across time seems like waiting to hear an echo from the mouth of space.

 

 

 

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