I was thinking about Tori Amos, and how her lyrics have become increasingly cryptic while remaining autobiographical, and in light of recent events, I thought I would try to imitate her, maybe toss in some James Joyce stream of thought prose. But then again, perhaps the beatniks were inspired by Joyce and provided inspiration to Ms. Amos. Who am I to know? Anyway, on with the show. I just ask that you comment, let me know if you liked it, thought it sucked, thought it was weird, or whatever.
Person speaks, reminds me of ago, of attempted but failed help by long-forgotten friends. Not their fault; they didn't know, couldn't have known, though they at least knew they didn't know. At least they were there, cared, gave a damn, but I was still shattered, still felt a volcano of pain in my soul.
Years pass, and with wisdom comes age and perspective and healing. New friend, new town, new life, new me. Friend speaks, same story from ago but completely different, and I know that I wish I knew what to say, what to help ease the anguish that radiated from her, and that maybe some of my old friends knew and didn't know what to say, and that they felt as helpless as I do now. I still see her face, marvel that she could function, marvel that she's not in a room weeping, sleeping, breaking. I know, and I don't, because I have and haven't been there, because no one can go quite to the same places in the soul another has been. Too many variables changed, too many hearts broken, and this time, wisdom does not bring peace. Is it wisdom to know that you don't know, when someone needs you to know, or is it failure? I don't know, but I know what I feel.