Knowing

By: Halfaway
May 21, 04

AN: Wrote it mostly all in one, long, steaming sitting. I remember thinking of graduation and wondering what it was that'd go through my own head when I put on the gown--my '04 friends weren't budging on that subject enough to ramble off of. Was not in the best of moods, and that is evident in the almost-rambling way it comes off.

--

And now you know.

Despite how it’s been drilled into your head since day one, how the teachers and parents and friends would warn it’s coming, you do not feel shock as you should. That it’s over. That it went by so fast and weren’t you just a little girl the other day, playing with string in a water bucket and making mud pies? Didn’t you wish this day would come a little faster then? Hadn’t you been absolutely buzzing the year before?

You know that you are shocked, not surprised.

That ugly memory that peeps its ugly head up every now and then, --like that, you are not surprised because it has been a part of you and you never expected that to go away. Like that which makes you cry, this too has finally found you and it is here but it doesn’t hurt. You are shocked that you’re here too, not surprised at how long it took to get here. It was inevitable, unless chance stepped in, and it rarely does. You would’ve faced it either way, in the end, and you would wonder but not really be astonished at what you found.

You know this like the back of you hand.

Or perhaps the front of you hand, whatever it is called, the scar is still there, still darker than the rest of you. You know how it happened, they tell you and you barely notice it anymore (had someone asked for unique features, you would not have thought of it until much later) but it is there. But you don’t remember, (you had been so little,) and therefore it is not real to you. Something imposed. Something lasting that you will forget and remember only when reminded to. So this is the same thing, really. It has been told and you do not appreciate it even when it is staring you in the face, even when it hurts. And even though you know it’s rude, you stare back.

Because it had been on its way for a very long time now.

What is it that shocks you so to the point of perplexing over old repeated memories that seem to fit into a lifetime of short days? That you’re here, that it’s over? How did you get so old? That you won’t be able to escape either way you think of it and you think about it a lot now.

But, you must admit, you’ve been so good at running, why stop now?

Because you’re tired. Because you fall asleep so early now and you don’t get anything done and when you do chance a nap, you are never rested. Because you have nightmares sometimes and the few times you collapse it hurts and you’re scared because you know you can’t get up. Because, despite what you think, though you have no name for it yet—and you’re looking—you can’t sleep. But you’re tired. Oh, so tired. Because now you finally realize this race never had a reason, prize, or destination. Yet you ran it and all the mileage in the world can’t bring you back. You see now where you’ve landed, do not know how or why or if you care anymore. Why stop running? You’ve made it this far.

Because you’ve made it this far and maybe it’s not far enough, you should keep going, or perhaps you should’ve stopped a while ago.

But you’ve never overachieved, in your opinion, and the endlessness of this end, so pointless you know you’ll regret it later, this beginning terrifies you. Because you can see yourself and you can’t and you listen too much, too deep, too hard. You analyze them until the possibilities are just as numerous and you fret over how to get out of them.

But it’s never been as bad as you make it out to be so why worry?

Because you can. Because you’re careless sometimes and you know it. And you don’t worry: you become “mildly concerned”. You fret, you rant, you shake. In the end you always fall. Either from some nasty cliff of worry with a sigh because the climb was all for nothing and you know you’ll land on clouds, stronger for it, or from a ledge you didn’t look for, screaming. Because that’s all you can do, and that has worked so far.

It’s here and you can try, but procrastination won’t help anymore, it never has.

And now you know all the world won’t stop for you; you can’t stop running but if and when you do, you won’t be able to catch up.

Now you understand that it never built up your endurance, never placed you higher up and you understand that now because you still can’t breath.

You know you’re confused, or perhaps you don’t know, but you are.

You know you feel you’re not ready, still not ready.

You know it’s all crumbling away now and that it always would have because you never listened to them anyway.

But you know now.

And that should be worth something.

You know it should.