I’ve been infatuated with lighthouses as of recent. I found an old lighthouse switch for my bedroom, I took out the old screws and replaced them for new ones. I printed out various photos of them as well, I even saved digital copies into all the crevices that could hold them online. Whether that be Pinterest, Spotify, Instagram and even here now on Tumblr. I don’t know what to make of my new obsession, but I imagine it is another way I try and find purpose. Like making sense of the stillness at night, so it doesn’t swallow you whole.
Maybe I’m waiting to find my way in this sea of answers that all belong to somebody but me. Maybe it’s my minds way of finding its path to safety, like an old, tired, drunken, sailor at night. As I make my path through life, I leave parts of myself, unstuck sticky notes, blown by the wind. That’s something I drew when I was 15. A photo of me kneeling in the middle of scattered pieces of paper blown by the wind, my hands desperately trying to hold more in my arms, but losing more of myself in the process. My fingers, covered in paper cuts.
I’d written down reminders of my favorite colors, movies, what made me smile, what made me angry, cry, and even laugh. In the journey of trying to hold onto fragments of myself, I have lost what little I greedily held. Maybe I’m just trying to avoid it, the very fact that I’ve been forgotten and tossed away like a plastic bag. I realize now that I’ve lived entirely as a widow mourning her missing rib. Only, I don’t know when I had it, even when I lost it.
Maybe I look for a lighthouse everywhere I go, so that when one finally crosses my path, I can pretend that God left it just for me.
Truthfully, I’ve spent so much time out at sea that I don’t know what to make of the silence anymore.
snowghoul
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