My Theory of (D)evolution

I see my reflection on the mirror. The image I see is familiar but I do not recognize him. The articulate eyes give it away. Their zest and energy have turned into twin pools of somber and lethargy. The innocence lost, replaced by concupiscence.

A lot has happened to this canvass of a face over time. The pale lines and the iridescent scars say it all. The boyish streaks of demeanor have faded. The hues of a once charming, youthful spectacle of a face have turned into a tired, embittered expression of doom. The lightness of good looks now disfigured. The shadows of ugliness have made manifest.

To behold this is disturbing.

I am shattered.

I resolve to remember what happened. Unless I remember, I will not understand why this is now. But to remember is to dig up old graves long forgotten. It is to open wounds long ignored, to invoke evil spirits long cast away. I have lived beneath the clouds of pretense, under the umbrella of a whim that I have moved on. But in reality I have not. My past haunts me. It cripples me. It catches up with me and I cannot move and walk towards the future. The truth is, I have been a wobbling wounded person all this time. I limp. I stumble. I may have licked my wounds and pretended to walk but no true healing ever took place. Pain has crept into my being and became unbearable.

I remember that line from Antonia’s Line: “It is not true that time heals all wounds. It just softens the pain and blurs the memory.”

The veneer of normalcy has got to cease. My wounds need redressing. I need to mend this brokenness and maybe, hopefully, forgive myself in the process. To become well and probably whole again. That is my redemption. I know, this will be an arduous telltale.

“Begin.”, I said.

I know he won’t stop until he is heard.

And he goes to the closet and brings out the skeletons he has hidden for years.

He begins, “It was the best time of the year and it was the worst time of the year.”