Bookmark #428

I have learned it is not in me to finish things I start, so I write shorter pieces of prose that are easier to complete. In life, too, I give up on most things, on most jobs, on most love. Of course, you were an exception; I did not give up on you, and look where that got me. I am better off leaving things unfinished. I prefer being the one leaving. I am the one that’s forgotten; it is terrible to be the one who has to forget. Memory, what a fickle dagger—you can only kill yourself with it. Most who kill themselves by remembering die a death so languid, so agonising, they start to regret the stab. It was much better to let time do the job—to die a drifter, someone who does not have in them to stop and watch a tree grow. Someone who throws the seeds here and there and walks away, never to see what happened with their attempt, good intentions, and the hope of an impossible future they shared with a straight face.

All my breaths were wasted on things of no significance, like these words or half-left drafts of greatness; there was no in-between, and that was my curse. All of us were cursed, one way or other. I was cursed with a sort of spiritual, temporal myopia. I could not see too far ahead. I could only see what was in front of me: the next week, the next kiss, the next joke. I could not see a practical plan for a future like most of my peers, who gradually started a perfect, synchronous emulation of the lives of their parents. All people were more or less bound to become like the people who raised them, but how much was always a choice. Unlike my peers, I could not see this template, for I had nearsightedness of the mind. And unlike my peers, I could not follow others word-for-word because I suffered from an unbounded trust in myself. This steadfastness was my boon, and it was my bane. It was what drew people nearer, and it was what drove them away.

Keeping all this in mind, I do see a blurry future now. I rub my eyes, but the vision will not get clearer. I see incomplete drafts, unbuilt houses and leftover dreams. I see the little I can manage to complete. All else is left behind. All for want of not being the one who has to sit and remember, only to forget.