Some songs just make me want to scream at the top of my lungs. At 3am. Powerlessly.
Examples are Kelly Family’s Mama, Il Divo’s (funnily) Mama, some others… I just don’t have a dark elf or two thousand to direct my rage at. My name is not Loki and I’m not from a silly comic book series. I don’t have anyone I can save to recoup for my sins. ‘Ha, ‘sin’ you say, my pedantic, language-nerd self?,’ I smirk. Pray, is ‘hell’ a better word? To recoup for my personal hell. Nay, sounds just as trivial. The feeling tearing my innards however is anything but trivial. That haunting feeling that I’m taking every wrong step – out of harmony and balance, out of bounds from where I find joy… Let’s dig deeper here, where do I find joy?
In longing, and in dreaming? In achieving? What is left? At the end, after the end, what is left but a tombstone and a name? Sure, a soul or two may grieve for me, but why would I want that – just to make their lives miserable? And don’t start me on that rejoicing-that-I’ve-moved-on thing, cuz a) no one really knows where the heck I’ll have moved on to, no one’s ever come back with HD pictures; b) chances are I’ll still be sorely missed. Despite them optimists rejoicing.
I know I still miss you. I don’t even know why, the candid conversations, maybe? So what’s the point of longing, and of dreaming, of achieving, of running?
I’m gonna run to the edge of the world
feel that I’m gonna get home if I try.
But home was a time, Sharon, not a place…