And I could not number the weeks it’d been since that last time I saw it. Is the world indifferent to the moon? As long as it’s there, does it matter if we see it or not?
I suspect all the things inside of me are dead and that’s
why I can talk about them. Brave is only a way of saying callous. I
think all that’s left of me is a museum, resurrected over the village of all
the things that mattered once but are gone. And the museum is getting dusty and worn down with too many tourist visits,
not enough upkeep and exhibition swap-outs. That is the pattern of things that
grow. They must, by law, grow, diminish, then be faux-revered.
"It is not as though man had any use for the moon. What good would the moon be to men? Even of their own planet what have they made but a battle-ground and theatre of infinite folly? Small as his world is, and short as his time, he has still in his little life down there far more than he can do." - H.G. Wells, The First Men in the Moon
ReplyDeleteThis is a beautiful post, Sarah Jordan.
ReplyDeleteAs I read it again and again, especially the second part, it reminded me of those times that I come across a great insight or a great piece of writing, and it is my lack of response to it, my pure admiration, you might say, that informs me of its being such.
"I think all that’s left of me is a museum, resurrected over the village of all the things that mattered once but are gone."