I'm listening to an album I got in New York almost two years ago. The first time I heard it, I was on long train ride from our hotel to The Cloisters. I remember the dark tunnels and the sudden winter city appearing in different flashes. Almost impossible to forget the brilliance of that morning in a world that was so much sharper because of the pain in it. Like staying up till morning because you are reading something so precious to you. Like hearing the gentle patter of rain and thinking, "this is it; I'm going to die now".
There were things to say then. The world meant something greater than it seems to mean now. I am happier now, that much more content, but I am aimless. I am floating through the void, distracted by everything; the barking of my dog outside, the music, the harsh electric light.
It's been months since I cried like this. But I don't feel alive anymore than I did a few minutes ago... I just feel empty, devoid of anything of interest, anything with meaning. I need to talk, I don't want to talk. I feel shattered.
I didn't remember what it was like to feel this desperate. This needful of human understandment.