My agitated state. The sadness beckons me. Depleted resources. Depleted existence. In my lifetime, a shadow mirrors me. I might've seen a new life but with a renewed vigour. A vigour that eludes me. Perhaps I could've felt young again. Towards the end game. A bombardment of thought. What was echoed has been lost in the derailment of the noise of children screaming outside the window. It was always built this way, you see. I could be deranged and forgetful but I have my view. Every fevered thought. Comes back again. To hold me responsible for things I've long forgotten. And things that you invented. I believe it's common courtesy to acquiesce as long as the other reciprocates. Lines we've rehearsed a thousand times with every other actor who has lived. What only could've been. To have lived, to have loved. To have died in someone else's arms. To have been a cipher for another person's life. It's all dust in the ether now. We remember and we remember ...
Brief fantasies betray a forlorn hope and so does the body. Break it down into several different pieces. A dormancy that springs forth into new life if only for a short while knowing that you're not the lustful teenager you once were and she could be old enough to be your daughter. All legal but the feelings betray a certain unease. You made your bed twisting the sheets out of every proportion. You sleep 'til all hours where a brief fantasy begets the teenage lust and the quarrels that you leave behind. Practices make dreams believe. But all you can do is deceive yourself for that brief moment to tantalise another life, another careful manipulation of what if, if only and so on. Try to tell yourself age is nothing but a number but the feeling lingers of guilt and shame, especially in the landscape we've provided for ourselves. But it becomes a weapon - a double edged sword for you to fall on. Empty promises become a toxic component - and then there is your increasing impedi...