Good Morning

These are things too. Down that same road up the black street, the view from the corner of the eye stretched along all the way still to go. Paused for breath. Just waiting for the same spark again. To say that it’s alright, that it’ll come to pass, that it will.

Months later, the road creeps still in the recesses of nowhere. Like a battered twig that’s been sitting out, blackening in the rain. The determination it took to get rid of those scraps of paper we folded up into tiny squares withered along with it. The words became general. Universal. And all we had left was the desire to keep walking down that black street.

Narcissism, maybe. Or the inability to reconcile the thoughts and the actions, the abstractions and the actual.

How much energy does it take to fill a sunken ship?

A brown board pinned with rectangle-fuls of all the past places. Where we balanced glass bottles in one arm and paper bags in the other; where we pushed our fingers to leave red imprints on the base of them. All these. One day the mist in the air will yellow them at the edges and rot them away. What will you do then?

Exactly

Remember the walk? The ground of granite passing by in a stream of unconsciousness. Quiet unconsciousness. And all you could do was to keep your head up and breathe in the morning chill. Against your own thoughts, against your own mind. Then, you felt a lot better.

And remember the sights? When all the ink drops of the night before melded into sheets of white paper to mix and match over cups of coffee in between puffs of air and tall glass tumblers. And all you did was kept on going, making more ink drops, sometimes interspersed with lines and sometimes dotted with scrawls. Then, you felt your best.

But remember the thoughts? That the beginning was here and that time was something that would show up at the door again. When the cycle ignited in its million steps and the Mondays, Tuesdays, Weekdays, done days turned into repeat… repeat. Repeat. Remember? You scrambled. Tried to dangle. But could you get back into it again? The piles of papers sitting by the windowsill and the bottles standing by the left. Try to tell yourself that. The piles of papers sitting unflipped by the windowsill and the bottles standing stagnant by the left. Try to ignore that. And now, you feel the same.