On Complacency and Melancholy

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: May 21, 2018

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Submitted: May 21, 2018



She doesn't have any special characteristics;
maybe a burn above her bosom, but not bearing any brightness beyond the bestial
scenic standards of scientific scrutiny, secured severely. So solely somatic.

Nothing magic happens for her, or when it does it is not magical. She
lays all her hopes in the hands of that which is explicitly physical,
or defined in terms that do not encroach on the current standard models. Not even
the budding advances of metaphysical sciences can cut it, and though she claims
to trust Turing's example she refuses to trust it's legitimate reasoning;
whether or not the universe we play upon plays back.

It could be that she doesn't exist, in fact, but that is only my own inter-
-pretation of the given circumstances. I couldn't care less whether my
friends are a psychotic manifestation of my own, or of theirs. What matters most
is that she feels. Complaining of a dulled sense of reality; a bruising of her ego
that she calls depression,
I offer these words of well-wishing: "It is a depression that plagues our area
this week, I've felt it as well."

Looking at the world in the way she does she cannot fathom what I have said
beyond the words I have used. Her less astute response can only be,
"You live nowhere near me". While I didn't expect this, I already had the in-
-tention of continuing to wish her well. "We're barely a state's bor-
-der apart; Include New York and Maryland, and you have our area,"
Though I mostly define it by my own means, it is still a locale
when compared to the rest of the planet.

However, and acting as an older sister disappointed by a shown
lack of intelligence from a younger brother (even though I am older),
she gives a sullen sigh thinking ill of my words, and offers her own con-
-tortuous retort, "As I thought; we are nowhere near each other".

It is here I have learned to let go of the reigns. She rarely shows an interest
in what she says I name 'meaningful'; thinking it all trite she likes to
lord her close-minded Intelligence over my open, expressive Wisdom,
and the denizens of the place we like to talk all agree with each word that
comes from her lips on an individual's cue (that is, without seeing them
in context as a sentence, but as wrangled-together bits of random infor-
-mation that sound good in the moment (unless, of course, one
were to speak them aloud. Although, At that point, it shows less meaning
and more proclamation than anything)).

Of course then I could not yet simply let go...

I let her know I'm not playing by offering a saying heard many times in the heat
of discussion that ought not be heated: "It's alright then..". A way to cool
the water before trudging further, but in the same line I lay my next
stitch because I hate waiting for the information to sink in be-
-fore I've finished. "I figured the space of a few miles wasn't that far
when compared to the nearest star."

It was there that it ended, as she could not bend far eno-
-ugh to see over some twenty-miles of hedges.

© Copyright 2019 I. R. Weltrip. All rights reserved.

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