Looking back, I find myself looking forwards. The old ways fade to new. Before I know it, I’ve slept a day, a week, a month and a year away. Interrupted by excuses and delayed by new procrastination at every turn, I look to push away the future and hold on to the past. They tell me change is good but I’m less adaptable than I care to admit. That is, when I’m not lying to myself or hiding my head in the sand.
Time slips away. Here I am, turning from sunrise to sunset, and all I see is clouds. The moonlight calls me and breakfast rooseter calls fall on deaf ears. I seek solace as torture creeps along the end of the bed. A howl of snapping dogs in despair. They jump around excited that my fate is but a momentary slip of strength away. They call out to me. I’m too withdrawn to answer.
There’s a light flickering and refusing to cease. A ray broke through the overhead gloom. Ripples in water reflect and shine as I glance from the edge of the murky water. Should I sink or swim? These are my choices. I’m more eunuch to society than life is to a stone. I cast a wandering wonder and drift away. Life to death is a door that I dread, yet I know the door is gently creaking open. Not yet. Not now. No thanks.