Excruciating Redemption

We go to see a film or a play or a performance and it speaks to us, through us, so it catches our attention, and just as it does we realise we shouldn’t have let it because then the emotion burns until we can barely handle it and sometimes we even let tears crease our faces and after we leave that arena it sinks right down until it reaches a clean sadness that lasts the rest of the night. And we let it linger, for a while. But then we sleep or we look in to the eyes of lovers, temporarily ignoring the cracks, or we play something lighthearted or we laugh about surface level aesthetics or we watch something devoid of depth, smother ourselves in banality until we are resurrected again back to our functional selves, because we have to. We just can’t deal with it right now, and why remind ourselves of loss that will always be so kind as to remind us of it anyway, stop torturing yourself, we say. And so we don’t, we forget, until the next time we inadvertently seek out art or something-like-it, to redeem our question marking souls, that still ache for answers
They’re just