I’m dancing alone in the kitchen on the 12 story of an apartment in Eugene, Oregon. I’m making pumpkin muffins and waiting for the love of my love of my life to get home from a long day at the baseball field. It feels as if the entirety of my existence has shifted here. Sometimes California feels like a past life.
There are people in this world that I was once danced with every night for years, whom I will never speak to again in my life. In past Octobers I used to write in the kitchen of a house that no longer exists in my world anymore. We are always the same but we change and we grow in and out of the people we are and once were.
Someone called me Rose last night. Rose exists in Oregon. Mary exists in New York. There are versions of myself exist in between.
The past few months have been crazy. I lived in Arizona for a few weeks. I traveled to Utah and Colorado and drove for so long I started to picture myself in that existence forever. In a constant unrealistic loop of the peace that being on the road brings me. But it was only for a moment, and then it was gone. And now I’m here.
Sometimes I look at pictures of the ocean and I wonder If I ever cross anyone’s mind in the state I now consider “home”. I’m told that I care what people think of me far too much but then again, so does everyone that lives and breathes in that over-romanticized corner of the universe.
I can’t settle into one place or one existence. Maybe this is what I get for giving myself two names and never knowing which one I’m going to introduce myself as in this place on any given day.
Perhaps a name could mean something more than just a title, such as a state of being or hoping to become.
Los Angeles. Some call it the City of Angels. I call it my paradise in the day then when the night falls I talk trash about it and swear that it’s the closest place you can find in this world to hell, like any true New Yorker should.
Do the memories we make with only ourselves die somewhere in the depths of our mind?
Often times I forget that a moment of my life happened without someone else bring up the memory. Will I ever forget the moments I shared with the people I used to love? Will new memories replace the old ones and fill the blanks in my mind. Will the universe give me new people to dance with on the nights that don’t matter? Perhaps those kind of people you only meet once and you're only supposed to know them for a while. Some people know them forever and they keep you frozen in time. Loving every moment not realizing that others are going by. Other chances to be someone else, somewhere else, dancing with other people who speak to you like a flower. It’s been a while since I’ve had people in my life that I would consider to be my friends. I have people I love hundreds of miles away but not the kind of friends I can dance with every night. I’m not sure If I’m meant to have those kind of friends.
Photos, social media, words on written paper or typed out on a screen. All of these are the things that we use to rationalize our memories and hold onto them for dear life. We live in a time where true human connection is dying. People make memories and move on and allow it all to be forgotten. You can probably find a photo of it all on some instagram somewhere but that’s the only place we dance anymore.