“O Again”

                 (The following is a portion of a novel I’m currently writing called MIDNIGHT. It’s about a ghost who falls in love with another ghost. It’s been a fun passion project I’ve usually worked on late at night. The title based on the Coldplay song certainly fits. Right now it has about a hundred of bits like this. I’m weaving them together with a storyline, but it’s still very internal and poetic. I’m calling this bit simply “O Again” because I wrote it listening to the Coldplay song “O” just like several other chapters. Obviously this is one of the goodbye chapters near the end. I wrote SKY BLUE and 40 the same–in pieces at all different times. I have over 35,000 words on this. Hope to see it come to light one day.)  




“O Again”

            Passing

without a passion to be seen. So casual, so mundane. Just passing time. Just

giving a simple nod to a simple soul.

            I

stand and reel and wonder.

            That’s it?

            You carve your skin and cut out

a piece and carry it over in your hand to give to her. And this—this is what you get in return?

            Maybe

she’s simply holding back because of the reality. But there’s this doubt—this

little demon inside your mind that’s been there your whole life.

            You’re not worthy.

            You’re not wonderful.

            You’re not something to wait for.

            So very whatever. That’s what I

get? That’s all it will be?

            The

real, painful goodbyes in life are never grand. They’re simply moments you have

to try and get through. They’re not accompanied by rapturous music or memorable

words. Usually they simply come with pauses and regret. Open-ended sentences

without periods. 

            I

want the closing credits accompanied by the last meaningful song on the

soundtrack. I want to leave this feeling like I got my money’s worth. I want to

stand in the dark and proceed down the aisle feeling this joyful rush of

inspiration follow me out of the theater and into life.

            But

life is not a movie. It’s not a song nor a poem. It’s not a sweet, little love

story.

            Life

doesn’t have a two-hour limit that can be summed up by a two-minute trailer.

            Life

consists of inconsistencies, with broken character arcs and unresolved tension

and plot points going nowhere.

            Life

is a messy structure that would be rejected in the first round of a Screenwriting

For Dummies contest.

            Life

is that goodbye that’s really never uttered. The awkward, stilted, circular

sort of conversation that stays with you simply because it could have been so much

more.

            Life

is seldom more than you want it to be. Yet you meet people that could never be

summed up with a simple story or a sappy song or a shiny painting. People—magnificent,

imperfect and complicated creations—are God’s artwork running on its own.

Faults and all. Precious and peculiar.

            Fly on right through.

            Yes.

            Fly on right through.

            Maybe. Of course. One day.

            Fly on.

            That’s what people and life do.

They fly on past you without giving you a chance to truly say goodbye.