We Spread

by Iain Reid

As we grew older, we spent more time apart, even when we were both home in the apartment. He despised aging and didn’t trust his crumbling body. The love I’d felt for him faded and detached. There was nothing to hold it in place. No more mystery. Nothing to learn. Wonder was replaced with awareness. By the end, it wasn’t just familiarity. I had a total and complete understanding of him.

At one time, it wasn’t just stuff. It all meant so much to me. All of it. Marrow that has turned to fat.

I’m starting to lose the intimacy of my memories. Most of my memories have stopped feeling like my own. I don’t believe them wholeheartedly the way I used to, and they don’t carry the same heft they once did.

I don’t want to be on an adventure. Not at all. I want to be home. I want to be having a nap.

relatable content

Eating with others, talking, making eye contact, it’s such a fundamental part of being a person. A daily ritual. I’ve missed it terribly without even realizing it.

I’m different, and so are my paintings each time I see them. It’s an ongoing disruption over time. It’s purely emotional. My perspective changes, and that’s what painting is about. Perspective and ways of seeing.

Why couldn’t it always be a work in progress? Why not let it remain forever unfolding? To keep that transfer going. Framing a finished painting on a wall was never my objective.

But what would the work mean if it was endless? What would a relationship mean if it kept going forever? What would a day be if it didn’t end?

“This lie is one about life, that we need more of it, that we need to be more productive, produce more, that it has to be longer, that death is the enemy. It’s not true. Infinity is a breathtaking mystery, or so I used to believe. Now I know it’s not. Infinity is stagnant. It doesn’t expand. It can’t. It’s just immeasurable. It’s not a mystery, it’s simply endless.”

The tragedy of life isn’t that the end comes. That’s the gift. Without an end, there’s nothing. There’s no meaning. Do you see? A moment isn’t a moment. A moment is an eternity. A moment should mean something. It should be everything.”

We do not all blend together. We are not ruined, helpless, a burden. We are not the elderly. We are not old people. Now, still, we’re unique. Distinct. Regardless of what we’ve produced or what happens to our bodies. We each have our own memories and experiences, even if they’ve been lost and forgotten.