Playlist/Bingo: Some Nights

His life is predictable cycles. He’ll find the world impossibly young, knowing it’s only because he’s impossibly old, and take himself away from it, as though space lessens the need and time is anything but an enemy.

He counts, during these times, all the things it has taken from him, from the specifics of home and family to the generalities of language and culture. He uses them to keep himself apart, but it’s a battle he can’t win and the losses pileup until they almost crush the life out of him. Almost, but never completely. When wishing they could, wishing they would, becomes too strong, he has to close the distance just to keep from going mad.

All that gets him is more things to lose, and he can’t help thinking of them that way. Viewing the world as potential hauntings is its own kind of madness. No matter how he tries to pretend, to lose himself in their short view of things, the defence against the pain to come keeps him apart until he needs the space and starts over again.

Contact was transient and rarely fulfilling, but it served its purpose. He was distracted for a time, and then he moved on until he had to find the diversion for the next too short years. It was, if nothing else, routine and familiar. So much so that in all the time he’d been doing it, gaining space and losing it, he never once developed a plan for the day he might want to stay.

He should have taken the time.



by | Sep 19, 2013

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