Title: Like the Sunset, or Evidence of Modern Evolution
Author: Amber (ambino1111@yahoo.com)
Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.
Rating: G
Category: Angst
Spoilers: non-specific for Season 3- Season 5
Summary: Like the sunset, or evidence of modern evolution, the origins of your disillusionment cannot be narrowed down to a single second or specific defining moment.
***
Like the sunset, or evidence of modern evolution, the origins of your disillusionment cannot be narrowed down to a single second or specific defining moment. No, it is a gradual change, a series of gradation so slight in variance that it goes by virtually unnoticed in daily living. Indistinguishable until one day when you look at your life and realize you have no idea who you are or where you are going.
You think you all believe in the same things, hold the same ideals tucked safely away deep inside the heart. You are always reluctant to sacrifice, but you do so out of necessity, never willing to give it all away. Everyone is adamant about that, especially him, but now even he has turned his back. Even the most idealistic and optimistic human being you have ever met can't sustain his hope. His vision has been clouded by these people whose respect you crave with an insatiable appetite, these people for whom you so freely dole out your own admiration. Yet respect isn't free, and you have learned its cost, but he isn't here anymore to lift your spirits back into the heavens, send your dreams soaring back into the stars. No, you're left on terra mushy, staring up at the clouds and trying to figure out what happened. His words, his smile, his eyes cannot comfort you. You wonder what can.
It's not a sudden shift, but a gradual change. A disappointment here, an oversight there. You shed a tear but you're trained to move on. 'What's next?' they say. You say it, too. People are in pain, but you cannot help them. People long for freedom, but you cannot fight for them. People need absolution, but you cannot save them, just as you cannot save yourself. So what's next?
You cannot remember the last time you felt good about yourself and your work, and that frightens you. It's been too long, and the past aspirations have, by now, been tainted ten-fold by betrayal and loss and. politics.
Every morning the rotten smell of politicians wafts down the hallway and into your office. You don't have time to wonder where the statesmen went, or if they will ever show their faces again. For even if they do, you don't know how long you can stick around and wait.
That stench, that political stench, makes you nauseous. You lose the desire to fight the "good fight," if you can even identify it any longer. Actually, it does get easier to spot as time passes - the good fight is the one that everyone else gives up on, the one for which you want to keep fighting but are shot down. The good fights are the ones that aren't won, aren't winnable, perhaps, but you'll never know because they never try anymore. You've given up on trying to convince them.
You understand him better now than you ever have before. You had been confused by his actions, by his decisions, saddened by his departure. Now his rationale is drawing into focus as the dissatisfaction builds upon itself, layering guilt upon resentment. He felt unwanted, as you do. And, to be honest, he was. For whatever reason, and you don't pretend to know which one, he had been kept out of the loop, forced into the position of "outsider" to that point that he was sick one day and no one noticed.
No one noticed his absence, which meant that no one noticed his presence, either. Now that you reflect upon it, he had been getting a lot of crap meetings and busywork drivel, nothing big nor important, for months before his deal became public domain.
The anger that you hold, formed into a tight, little ball begins to crack a little. You wonder how long it will be before the crackpot reports and trivial meetings wind up on your desk.
You feel badly for misjudging him, even though you never said anything to his handsome face. In your heart you'd hoped he'd lose, simply because then he would be back where he belonged, or where he used to belong. Maybe then things could return to normal. But it gave him such hope, such life, and that long-missing light was back on his face and in his eyes, and how could you deny him that? He needed to believe in something, someone, again, and you should have let him. You should have listened to him, you should have been happy for him. He needed to believe in someone, and the only one left was himself.
You finally know how he felt.
It's just you now, and you wonder what he is doing, and more importantly how he is doing. Is he happy? Or 'happier' anyway. Is the smoggy air and salty breeze revitalizing him? Does he stare out across the endless ocean and feel rebirth? Does he remember what it's like to have faith? Can he remind you?
Would he object if you resigned and took the next flight out to your former homeland to live with him and his broken dreams and beaten spirit?
Maybe he could share his stories, impart upon you some wisdom and strength. Maybe you could mend each other.
Yet you know, as another day passes and you feel worse, that, like a black hole, you are pulled inexplicably towards the job, towards the version of yourself of which you are not willing to let go. The bond is too strong to overcome.
You'll give it your all, you'll do well until they make you resign or until you've served your time. You almost chuckle at the thought of this dream job being a prison sentence, but you swallow the noise because lately it is feeling less like a dream and more like a job. Lately you find yourself debating if you should get out of bed in the morning, and often regretting the choice you make.
It was a gradual change, but a change nonetheless. You can't help but feel nostalgic, for the path ahead seems longer and thornier and more tiring than ever before. You'll need help in the briers, but there is no one left to come to your aid. You'll catch yourself in the patch, and, by default, there you will remain.
Salvation may be in California, but as you watch the sunset in Washington, you know that you won't be.
***
Author: Amber (ambino1111@yahoo.com)
Disclaimer: Not mine, etc.
Rating: G
Category: Angst
Spoilers: non-specific for Season 3- Season 5
Summary: Like the sunset, or evidence of modern evolution, the origins of your disillusionment cannot be narrowed down to a single second or specific defining moment.
***
Like the sunset, or evidence of modern evolution, the origins of your disillusionment cannot be narrowed down to a single second or specific defining moment. No, it is a gradual change, a series of gradation so slight in variance that it goes by virtually unnoticed in daily living. Indistinguishable until one day when you look at your life and realize you have no idea who you are or where you are going.
You think you all believe in the same things, hold the same ideals tucked safely away deep inside the heart. You are always reluctant to sacrifice, but you do so out of necessity, never willing to give it all away. Everyone is adamant about that, especially him, but now even he has turned his back. Even the most idealistic and optimistic human being you have ever met can't sustain his hope. His vision has been clouded by these people whose respect you crave with an insatiable appetite, these people for whom you so freely dole out your own admiration. Yet respect isn't free, and you have learned its cost, but he isn't here anymore to lift your spirits back into the heavens, send your dreams soaring back into the stars. No, you're left on terra mushy, staring up at the clouds and trying to figure out what happened. His words, his smile, his eyes cannot comfort you. You wonder what can.
It's not a sudden shift, but a gradual change. A disappointment here, an oversight there. You shed a tear but you're trained to move on. 'What's next?' they say. You say it, too. People are in pain, but you cannot help them. People long for freedom, but you cannot fight for them. People need absolution, but you cannot save them, just as you cannot save yourself. So what's next?
You cannot remember the last time you felt good about yourself and your work, and that frightens you. It's been too long, and the past aspirations have, by now, been tainted ten-fold by betrayal and loss and. politics.
Every morning the rotten smell of politicians wafts down the hallway and into your office. You don't have time to wonder where the statesmen went, or if they will ever show their faces again. For even if they do, you don't know how long you can stick around and wait.
That stench, that political stench, makes you nauseous. You lose the desire to fight the "good fight," if you can even identify it any longer. Actually, it does get easier to spot as time passes - the good fight is the one that everyone else gives up on, the one for which you want to keep fighting but are shot down. The good fights are the ones that aren't won, aren't winnable, perhaps, but you'll never know because they never try anymore. You've given up on trying to convince them.
You understand him better now than you ever have before. You had been confused by his actions, by his decisions, saddened by his departure. Now his rationale is drawing into focus as the dissatisfaction builds upon itself, layering guilt upon resentment. He felt unwanted, as you do. And, to be honest, he was. For whatever reason, and you don't pretend to know which one, he had been kept out of the loop, forced into the position of "outsider" to that point that he was sick one day and no one noticed.
No one noticed his absence, which meant that no one noticed his presence, either. Now that you reflect upon it, he had been getting a lot of crap meetings and busywork drivel, nothing big nor important, for months before his deal became public domain.
The anger that you hold, formed into a tight, little ball begins to crack a little. You wonder how long it will be before the crackpot reports and trivial meetings wind up on your desk.
You feel badly for misjudging him, even though you never said anything to his handsome face. In your heart you'd hoped he'd lose, simply because then he would be back where he belonged, or where he used to belong. Maybe then things could return to normal. But it gave him such hope, such life, and that long-missing light was back on his face and in his eyes, and how could you deny him that? He needed to believe in something, someone, again, and you should have let him. You should have listened to him, you should have been happy for him. He needed to believe in someone, and the only one left was himself.
You finally know how he felt.
It's just you now, and you wonder what he is doing, and more importantly how he is doing. Is he happy? Or 'happier' anyway. Is the smoggy air and salty breeze revitalizing him? Does he stare out across the endless ocean and feel rebirth? Does he remember what it's like to have faith? Can he remind you?
Would he object if you resigned and took the next flight out to your former homeland to live with him and his broken dreams and beaten spirit?
Maybe he could share his stories, impart upon you some wisdom and strength. Maybe you could mend each other.
Yet you know, as another day passes and you feel worse, that, like a black hole, you are pulled inexplicably towards the job, towards the version of yourself of which you are not willing to let go. The bond is too strong to overcome.
You'll give it your all, you'll do well until they make you resign or until you've served your time. You almost chuckle at the thought of this dream job being a prison sentence, but you swallow the noise because lately it is feeling less like a dream and more like a job. Lately you find yourself debating if you should get out of bed in the morning, and often regretting the choice you make.
It was a gradual change, but a change nonetheless. You can't help but feel nostalgic, for the path ahead seems longer and thornier and more tiring than ever before. You'll need help in the briers, but there is no one left to come to your aid. You'll catch yourself in the patch, and, by default, there you will remain.
Salvation may be in California, but as you watch the sunset in Washington, you know that you won't be.
***