Gravity's Captivity

I sometimes feel a feeling, one that can only be described as boredom. It is so much more than that, although I have yet to find a word for this emotion. It’s one that swells in my chest like loneliness and emptiness, but makes my veins run cold and hot as angers does, that tightens my muscles like I’m claustrophobic and caged, that burns my eyes like sadness and grief, that sends chills down my spine and rings in my ears makes my mind race with all the possibilities. I think of all the endless scenarios and paths my life could take, each one more desirable than the last.

I feel the need to run, so I go outside and stop dead in my tracks when I see the stars shining up there, so perfect and scintillating in the indigo sky. I drink them in and they fill me with a feeling of warmth, of comfort, of familiarity like I have never known in even the oldest relics of my life here on this Earth. I begin to laugh and cry from the overwhelming solace I experience when that light reaches my eyes, like seeing an old friend from whom I’d been parted for years, like hearing a once-loved song that somehow I have forgotten existed. Suddenly, I feel whole and complete. That vacant and agonizing buzzing in my head and heart fades away without a trace. Every time I see the stars, I remember them anew and everything comes back, every dream, every loving memory I never made among them, even though somehow I feel like I’ve been there, traveling through the universe. Standing on the surface of another world and watching a different sun set from another planet’s sky. Staring in awe as the first, bright-blue star ignites in the cosmos and send its light into the darkest darkness there ever was. Watching as the last star as it dims and fades, but knowing that its photons carry on, its image is still drifting out there for someone’s eye to catch and hold. Seeing binary systems and diamond planets and black holes and nebulae and electrical storms and massive water vapor clouds and alien planets and moons and more things which I could never possibly imagine.

I feel as though I’ve been there, but the memory is nothing but a spot in my eyes after looking into a bright light, the momentary echo after a glorious symphony has finished, a foggy general idea of a dream that slips away before I can grab it. I remember my memories that never were every night, and every night, I wonder how I could have ever forgotten them at all. There is no love I will ever know like my love for the stars, and I don’t care if it’s impossible - I will see them one day.


I went outside just as the clouds were clearing and the stars were becoming visible - they're so beautiful tonight. I saw Arcturus sparkling away and I even saw a shooting star flash across the deep blue, and I was so perfectly happy and I could help but grin and laugh; I must have looked crazy. I have come to realize, though, that the only time I ever feel whole and complete, the only time the nagging emptiness I feel every moment subsides, and the only time I am ever truly at peace and content is when I am looking up at the stars and the brilliant universe.



The regal sun is rising to his throne,
Reclaiming his position in the sky.
Cascading, sending waves of azure tone,
A beacon that the night is ending nigh.
My golden star peers out behind the veil
Of orange-painted clouds set all aglow
By city lights that so often curtail
The shining star I've known from long ago.
And even as the day grows nearer still,
I stare into that star with narrowed sight.
My eyes with scintillation quickly fill,
And soon I can see nothing but its light.
Such faded vision drowns all light but one
So suddenly my star outshines the sun.


Just an after-image.

It kills me that I never remember my dreams anymore. I wake up every morning with a scene in my mind, but as I regain consciousness, it fades into a few broken images, eventually becoming nothing but a nameless, shapeless, causeless feeling. Sometimes I wake up happy, and sometimes I wake up screaming. Either way, I just wish I could remember why.

I wrote this a long time ago - I think I was in Newark.

I have almost immediately come to despise the textured tiles covering the insides of the ceiling in this room; they are bearing down on me. The vents that replace some of the times are eminating heat which surrounds, suffocates me. The fluorescent lights cast a sickly glow on the faces of the people around me, and it makes me feel rather nauseated. The chrome-rimmed clock hanging on the wall to my left has a red second hand which almost gives it a sense of urgency. It should be going faster. I look to my right and realize there is an identical clock on the opposing wall. It makes me wonder how long I would be here, when it would be over. Overall, the room was silent; except for the occasional crinkle of a food wrapper or emphasemic cough, there is very little noise. The windows in front of me simple create a view to windows of another building facing me. I fear I may be trapped in here. The paintings on the walls are garish and add to the depressing feel of the room. A woman in front of me with 5 or 6 gold hoops in her ear laughs quietly to her friend, and then turns to face forward once more. A man walks to the front of the room and apologizes for the wait, and places a sign at the front of the room which discourages people from getting a criminal record. I ponder what he's doing with his life, and then move on. The carpet, made to look like marble, is a sickly yellow color and makes me feel ill. This room which I am sitting in definitely gives off a general feeling of nausea.



Illuminating light and wisps of gas,
Clouds forming nebulae across the moon
As wondrous microcosms while they pass,
But breaking the illusion much too soon.
Of all the mysteries beyond our world
Beheld with empty eyes, misguided will,
Such enigmatic questions stand unfurled
Like clockwork ticking, spinning, turning still.
Although these riddles' answers seem to fade,
Eluding minds of caliber so high,
It seems to me the question's answer's made
So clear, so far away, and yet so nigh.
From particle to grandest galaxy,
The pattern stays the same for all we see.


I have always been this way.

A few readings from my summer journal I wrote when I was 12 years old (with all the grammar and spelling exactly as I wrote it):

"It was truly disgusting how many kids brought Lunchables. They're so unhealthy, yet millions of kids eat them! What is this world coming to?!?"

"After that, the first ride we went on [at the fair] was a stupid haunted movie theater ride. The only things scary about it was how badly made it was."

"Then we watched Cheaper By the Dozen. My grandparents didn't like it, so about halfway through, they went and did other things. I like it, though. It wasn't the best  movie ever, but it was watchable."

"We were supposed to say what we learned. I learned not to run off a curb in flip-flops. I also learned that jellyfish are plankton. My grandma learned that tides are caused by  gravity. She thought they were caused by the Earth tilting back and forth. We were standing in front of a chalkboard and when she said that, I turned around and wrote 'I don't know her --->' with the arrow facing her."