My mind is agitated. It spins me around, in imperfect circles. Ovals of light and speed, wrapping themselves around my throat. I avoid sleep once again, even as I prepare for it. Eyes closed, head resting on pillow, body rigid, breath shallow, blanket loose and warm. An invitation for the figures and forms to begin, and carry me away. Instead, guilt embraces me. I am a disappointment to myself, and all who are unfortunate enough to know me. My weaknesses have forced them into carrying me through. I am nothing, but crushing weight on everyone’s back.
I am everything I have ever noticed, which is not as much as I should have. There is a savagery to my past, and the hold it has on me. The participation I have had in my own life, is passive and minimal. It has all been a screen, with images in Kodacolor. I wait here as I always have, for further instruction, when the first set was never given. I look to someone, which has become anyone, then no one at all. I am pulled in by the desire for an encore, when Robert bowed out after the last act.
This isn’t a scandal, an outrage, a disgrace. This is nothing at all. It’s looking at the sky on a starless night. It’s placing full importance, on a love affair of microscopic importance. It is defining life by romantic love alone, and in finding it is absent, seeing no reason to hope, or to move forward in search of new meaning.