Walking down the path he happens to notice it out of the corner of his eye. He is in a hurry, he’s going to be late but he has to get a better look. A thousand little questions dance across his mind. What if? What if? What if?
Simple yet beautiful. A flicker from the wind makes them dance, a dance only they understand.
People say that desperate times call for desperate measures. Desperate may not be the most appropriate word for the situation but it would garner the desired results.
The exact moment it happened could not be deciphered. All that he understood was the need to flee became more than a passing thought but a way of life.
Money as always was tight, he had only dollars to spare. Time was even tighter, he would be lucky to find minutes to spare.
If he didn’t get away he was certain the anxiety that racked his body would cripple him. Consequences be damned, he had to do this for him.
Ever so slowly he made his way across the room and grasped at his last resort. Flipping open the cover, his fingers slid across the page, his eyes adjusted to the text, minutes later his was gone.
The scent is utterly recognizable. To him it is serenity. To some the musk, the leather and the age would bring up disconcerting emotions. For him, his blood pressure drops and his mind clears. There is no description that can do the ambiance justice. This is a place while full is vacant of any worries.
The need to escape now is greater than ever. Destruction, death and apathy weigh heavily on the soul. It ages a man far past his years, the lines are added to his face, the stress upon his heart. An escape if only for a moment can bring immeasurable relief.
He enters the room fully and makes his way to his faithful chair. Sinking into it, he closes his eyes and reaches for the side table out of instinct. His fingertips feel the etched writing on its spine. Opening his eyes the book, The Great Gatsby, was in front of him. His eyes adjusted to the text, he let go of any remaining grasp on reality.
Survival if only for a page was undeniably his.
Who is she I wonder? Everyday I see her there completely alone. I have never seen her with anyone else. She doesn’t pay any heed to whomever passes by. She keeps to herself. Why does she maintain her isolation?
Does she dream as she stares off into the ocean? Does she cry quietly to herself as life passes her by? How is it possible that she is here in the middle of the day? Doesn’t she have responsibilities? Each day her routine is the same. There is no excitement, no deviation, no opportunity, no chance.
Each time I see her I create a story of what might be in my mind. I am never able to come up with a positive interpretation. Each time my mind delves into the numerous tragedies that must have happened.
The situation is unique, strange to say the least. I never see her come, I never see her go.
Who is she?
Am I her?
What is the real tragedy?
Is it so very different from place to place? Do timezones stand for more than just a change in longitude? Are we a reflection of when the sun rises above us, are we more? Would I love him less if he saw the sun after me each day? What if he believes over love only revolves around time? Can I last without him after giving myself fully to our love?
I shouldn’t focus on this now. I need to focus on the moment. He will be off the plane at any moment. No return flight.
Tick- Tock- Tick- Tock
Kiss, Love, Breathe, Live
Heartbreak, Eternal, Ever After
From the abandoned floor he could see everything. The city lay before him lit up in the night sky. Every builidng called to him by name. The choices were overwhelming. All he needed was one singular building but he was unable to narrow the list to five. Sipping from his coffee mug he let his soul lead his eyes. Off in the distance his muse finally appeared. He sat down on the carpet and began to write. Write the words to match the building to match his love for the woman he would ask to be his wife.