the castle at the edge of the world

Every day I’m more invisible, every week is quieter.  I forgot what it was like to be no one, unextraordinary, a blink of someone’s eye.  It’s comfortable.

But for a handful of people, I’m family.  And family is different now.  Among a handful of people I am unconditionally loved; as long as I’m a brilliant, incorruptible badass.

Flat-out, I don’t feel like I’ve experienced this before.  Friends were circles of people I would visit with and move on.  Parents were people who were always not-quite-sure about me.  Everyone was at arm’s length.  Now most people are, but some aren’t.  I don’t feel the need to have an opinion about it, which is good because I don’t know what to think.

 

Everywhere I go there are memories – of buildings, people.  Signs on walls – I went to a dance here, I kissed my ex-fiancee there.  This is where I snubbed the president of the university.  I hope he doesn’t remember.

I feel like I had a brother and these are his memories, but he’s gone.  We never knew each other, but I have his memories.  Sometimes I feel like I’m writing this for him.

 

I was talking to someone about flaws – things to work on.  I said I think I talk too much.  I feel a compulsion to say what I think should be said.  It’s reckless, and I should learn to be quiet.