I never thought I could feel so close to someone
as to when I call my girlfriend “my nigga”.
It’s funny, but when I say it I almost feel like what i’m really saying is
I’m incredibly scared yet willing to trust you with everything
You can’t just block all our exits,
leave us to tunnel for home,
in the underground railroad,
and over the phone.
You can’t just swear you’re a saint,
when I know that you ain’t,
you’re just a block and a half from trouble.
When I feel old and tired at this age, i almost want to cry. Gray hair in my beard and a back that forces me to bend at 20 years old does not bid well for me.
The way you handle people confuses me, and it confuses me the way that i handle people, too. In this case, i write you as if it’s one person, but it feels like several people could fit the sentence in my mind, so i’m writing towards a generality.
Fall fell down on West Macon and rode in with the leaves, passing up the green colors that were leaving town on one side of the highway, and rode in with shades of red, orange, and brown. Cornelius didn’t mind because the temperatures were going to drop, and had began founding reasons to enjoy things again. Even if sometimes it seemed like the reasons slipped his mind. But at any rate, there was a chill in the air that was much appreciated. It contrasted with the warmth that seemed to be surrounding everyone.
Sara Bridgewater called on the fourth Tuesday of the month.
"How are you doing, Cornelius?" Her voice still sounded like candy canes. Too early to be around when it wasn’t December, and when the snow had settled on everything in town. But not necessarily unpleasant to have, either.
"I’m doing fine, what about you?" Cornelius pulled the phone cord against his body and it brushed his chin. He remembered the time that Sara had first told him that she loved him. It had been a while since then.
"Oh, I’m doing great, really." Sara made it seem like her own feelings were an afterthought. Cornelius considered that maybe, they were. But who knew besides her.
"That’s good to hear." Cornelius couldn’t help but smile.
The leaves fell down on West Macon with the Fall. Sara and Cornelius, there in the kitchen, the phone cords pulled against them.
You took off your dress without moving your crown,
You laughed all our worries down to the ground.
I’ll come back later, if you come back later.
If I see you when I see you, i’ll let you know then,
if the way that I feel has since gone with the wind.
What parts of you do I actually love?
What parts are below,
What parts are above?
In the current drenched wet with the laughs in the morning
I swear I should have seen your eyes as a warning.
In the dreaded piles of photograph moments,
I picked out the best one,
You looked and you smiled
and then it was done.
Sometimes you get older,
and sometimes you don’t.
Sometimes you get wiser,
but sometimes you won’t.
I put all my cares at the end of a rope,
and tied up your lies in a box,
wrapped in hope.
Bought new shoes in Tennessee,
worked on things that weren’t for me.
Bought a brand new coat in Idaho,
brand new things with room to grow.
Stood underneath your doorway that night,
and broke the laws I said I’d always fight,
put my change into the jar in Mississippi,
and made sure that you’d always have a light.
Bought new shoes in Tennessee,
Never swore I’d felt more free.
Worked on things that weren’t for me.
Bought a brand new car in New Mexico,
half a year since you told me I should go.
Never swore I’d felt more free.
No I never swore that I had felt more free.
Brand new things with room to grow,
bought half a year since you had told me I should go.
The idea of the train in Darjeeling Limited itself is something to consider. We see early in the film a point at which men are seen trying to catch a train to go somewhere else. This could largely be considered a representation of the film’s themes as a whole. The film itself is about the journey through life that you are not entirely in-control of, but try to be. A train ride is a journey chosen, on-rails, to a certain destination, without the direct control of the journey at any rate. The three central characters are on a journey to rediscover who they are, and to reconnect with each other, and while one of them finds the entire idea of doing this necessary, the other two do not, and there are many conflicts. However, they stick together on some level with a constancy throughout the entire story, despite the plans of the one character coming together as he imagined them.
Consider: the usage of the train in Darjeeling limited as a means of representing the non predictable journey. Does the journey of the central characters at any point in the movie seem more controlled on their level, or do they simply accept what they can not control and what they can control?
I kept my things in the trunk, there in West Macon, for as long as I could remember. The trunk, I kept a secret from most everyone I knew for the better part of the last 20 years, besides very few.
The trunk is made of glass, If I remember correctly. Not a typical material to use for a trunk, but that is how it was, for as long as I knew it, except one time, when I think it may have seemed to be made of dark mahogany with leather accents. Although that may have been a different trunk altogether, and that would mean there are more than one trunk that I have known about. But that may have been another’s trunk, and not my own. I may have only been visiting and storing, on the way to a different place altogether, a place that I have not been to for a very long time. But the more I think, the fuzzier it gets. Around the edges, and then around the center. Around the center, and then around the edges again.
"There are things you don’t want to know you can do." - Robin McKinely
I walked outside, and took off my shoes, and lined them side by side against the base of the rocking chair. The rocking chair that I had sat in for the better part of the last fifteen years, most every morning, while I let my eyes grow wide and open to the world as I threw off the groggy conditions of the dawn. The dawn itself having no trouble doing this, on the rise without what I would say, a trouble, but I knew that the dawn had it’s own troubles waking up, having to place the dew on each piece of grass there along the fields and each flower, and having to push into each window curiously to let the people know when to get up. I probably had it easier than the dawn, when I really thought about it there, In that rocking chair.
I watched proper Miss Jane walk up the side walk to the edge of my property, and she held up a piece of fruit and waved it at me. She would have waved anyway, but the fruit was a bystander.
"Hello! Good Morning!" The words sprang from her mouth, messenger birds.
"Well, good morning to you too!"
I tried my best to seem awake, even though on the inside my words fought to stay in like children pretending to be sick in order to miss school.
Jane legs inched closer onto my property and before I knew it she was near the porch. This wasn’t the first time and probably would not be the last.
"I have something for you," Her words were still sharp, and now that she was closer, it was harder to put up with. But I wondered what she could have had, anyhow. "It’s the most curious thing, that I did find. and I know you like curious things."
We had talked, one morning, while our routines intersected as they usually do, about our mutual interest in strange antiques. She had joked about how she would keep an eye out for things, and I had done the same. A leaf fell on her shoulder, then, and she thought it was a spider, and she screamed and ran until she realized it wasn’t a spider, and she remembered that she had things she should be doing, that morning, and off she went. The phantom spider was not showing up, this morning, I felt.
"Well, let’s see what you’ve got." I got up out of my chair, and it creaked while I creaked. The lines had blurred between what was what a while ago. I knew this was happening in several areas.
We walked over to Jane’s Suburban, which had been driven in this case just to carry what it was that she had found. And in a sense, I worried slightly that she had found something large that would only take up space in my house. But I couldn’t properly judge too early on, it wouldn’t have been fair. The fields wouldn’t have judged the dawn before they saw the dew it brought, I suppose.
She lifted the hatch on her carry all Suburban.
"Well, isn’t it just interesting?" Her words, this time, flew into my ear as if they arrived from a distant place, and had been dulled and eroded on their journey, blurred at the edges.
The morning sunlight edged off of the glass surface, and my wide eyes shunted slightly at the reflection. Still, something of it, my morning brain faded and trailed off towards it so carelessly.
"The most curious thing, a glass trunk! You could never keep things in it for secret, that’s just what I would think, from the looks of it. But when I saw it, I thought right of you, and knew you would think it just fantastic." Jane, who was awake most effortlessly, flung her words up and down in my direction.
It was a standard trunk, save for the fact that it was entirely made of glass, besides the support accents, that themselves were made of what most other trunks were made of, some sort of leather covered wood. And even then, In the sunlight, I can remember those accents being transparent themselves, in the right light, but my memory grows distant, the more I think about it.
"Thank you so much." My words had been reserved to the polite and the standard, the trunk itself had somehow, surprisingly, taken the rest, in some way.
Miss Jane helped me lower the trunk from inside of her Suburban, and into the outside world. With the best of her energy, she helped me carry the trunk into the threshold of my house. Down the front walkway, and up the stairs. The trunk, surprisingly light, the sun bounding off of it in many areas. Nothing inside, as far as I could tell, between the moments where I was squinting my eyes to block the light. I can’t help be reminded now, of how we must have appeared similar to the carriers of The Ark itself. Filled with purpose and hurried patience. We set the trunk down, just inside my house. I could have sworn even then that it reflected the sun, but I know that no sunlight could have entered for it to reflect. But the glint of a memory fights its way to the front, and then blurs on the edges, the more I think about it. The sound of proper Miss Jane’s SUV, and the dust flying up as she drove off, and the trunk, sitting there in front of me, those bounce to the front, too, like reflected sunlight.
And when I look at the the trunk, my words, they escape me, and get stuck somewhere else.
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