late night musings...

Doing the Billy Bragg thing... sitting in my darkened room listening to Don't Try This At Home and looking back again.

I see this long trail of people who've meant something to me, stretched back into the shadowy corridors of my memory, and wonder if I'm so self centered to let them slip away from me?

These people meant something to me. These people were important enough to occupy my consciousness and imprint who they are (soul?) onto who I am. They made changes/improvements into who I am. They made me want to be better, made me want to share their thoughts because they were grander, holier, purer than mine.

Yet here I am. Looking back... but keeping touch only with my memories...I don't feel a longing, as it were. And I don't feel a sorrow. I would likely be overjoyed to see their faces again, but I don't feel a need to seek them out.

Nope, this is totally me. I'm curious if there is a defect in my character.

*sigh* Late night musings... I do miss those. Many of those faces peering at me from the shadows are those who I've spent many a night over a pint, in a cloudy haze... possibly over a campfire... at a sweat lodge... on a living room floor... but just rambling. Talking shit, but cutting through it slowly, comfortably.

Now I'm more likely to just sit in a corner and listen... watching from a distance.