utensil birds

last few days i felt strange, because my mind had already left, since i had prepared for weeks for my departure. physically, though absent, empty, i was still in paris.

the only thing separating me from paris and being in the states was time, and since time is such an abstract concept, there was nothing to grab onto for conceptual understanding. hence why i was so confused for a while.

now i'm here, and i feel like my mind has met my body again, in this airport, waiting, waiting. always waiting. they only meet when i have a small creneau of time to process and digest. i suppose this is good for me, despite how annoying it feels. after such a long time of being on the move all the time, some time alone feels uncomfortable. i used to love spending time alone.

paris feels like a dream. my schemas have adjusted so that the states feel concrete again, being in an airport spurs my memories of being in an airport before leaving. paris feels so far away. more than temporally. i feel alive again, in a different way, after a little death. there's nothing here that's keeping the memory of paris alive for me except for myself. and myself, i'm already readjusting to life here in the states, so it's dying. and soon it will be buried in the past. or maybe just forgotten. knowing that kills me.

what now?

who knows

everything from new york is flooding back into me and it feels like i never left.

i guess when we grow we have to create alternate selves that exist on different planes in different temporal spaces. a part of me, i hope, will continue to live in that fantasy and i won't be reminded of it until i revisit it again. the senses hold so much power over memory, memory is nothing without sensory input. whatever is in our immediate surroundings forms our thoughts and i want to stop forming these thoughts i want to go back to my old ones.