1 August

For all the reckless decision-making, for all the incarcerating brain fog, I am currently filled with a marvelous serenity. I feel like everything is mellowing, folding into itself and starting over. Here I am, right now, existing, and that is all that seems to matter.

I cannot fathom that one day my hair will no longer be soft and shiny and dark, that my face (of which I am, if nothing else, monstrously fond) will wrinkle into itself and no longer be beautiful. I cannot fathom that my thinness will be ravaged by childbearing and age, and that my memories will seal themselves into irretreivable compartments of my brain like taped-up letters. I cannot fathom it. And yet-- it will happen. I will age. What will be left of me then? What will be the crucible when the beauty is vanquished by time?

And yet, the serenity. Perhaps the serenity of those who are destined to die. The mutual comfort of the happy and the damned.

Good Music:

Regina Spektor - 15 Hero of the Story .mp3 : Hero by Regina Spektor

Us - Regina Spektor

Imogen Heap – First Train Home