My memories are oftentimes more real to me than my physical reality. I relive past moments to a point where I imagine that these moments are real once again. How wonderful would that be? I think about moments over and over and over to a point where I can't distinguish my embellishments from what actually happened. This imagined existence is so lovely that I ache to make it be. But then reality hits me in one way or another and I remember, oh yes, this is how it is now, what a shame. Because of my constant flights into my imagined past I am sometimes at odds with my present. I am detached for fear of wanting.
These moments I desire were never real to begin with and are forever lost. I want them just the same.
All of this seems to have been said in a song that I love because it is so deeply tragic.
Aqualung: Strange and Beautiful
Sometimes the last thing you want comes in first
Sometimes the first thing you want never comes
I know the waiting is all you can do.
Sometimes
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