The Whirlwind

Standard Armenian carousel, 1930s-2000s
Image via Wikipedia

Time passing is supposed to be slow, yet I can feel its movement on my face.  It’s a cool breeze, the type you don’t notice until it stops.  It reminds me of a slow whirlwind, as though my future is stuck chasing time’s past.  This is happening around me and in me, I can watch it happen and feel it happen all at the same time.

As it spins me, I try to find my footing.  It reminds me of the first few seconds on a merry-go-round.  I’m not dizzy yet, but soon will be. I try to  find my barring, focus on something on the horizon, and wait as I gain momentum.  I’m stuck going slow, but anticipating fast.

While searching for that stable place on the horizon, I swear I caught a glimpse of who I was supposed to be.  She’s different, has hair made of fire.  She’s on the run, swiftly embarking on the journey I forgot to take.

I’m trying to find something common between that girl and me.  Something common in that journey and the one I chose.  But it feels now like the life I never chose, chose me.  A moment of pause to take stock of my life. I never wanted this and thank God for this all at once.  Here I am again…refusing to choose the pieces of me that are the loudest.

I used to think broken things were meant to be put together again.  Pieces confused me, I needed things to be whole. And so I repaired the items and people in my life with glue and a lot of pressure.  I heard once a broken bone renewed was actually stronger than its previous self.  Cracks adhere to each former piece and literally disappear.

But the idea now that I am a unique, stable, whole self is laughable.  As the merry-go-round turns, I see piece after piece after piece of a changeable, confusing, complicated me.  I am that girl with fire hair, and I am that woman trying to find a stable place on the horizon.  I am the future and time’s past all at once.

Catch me if you can.

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