Spindrift

A few minutes before dusk I go. My head is throbbing due to endless seclusion and hours of labour. There is no one to meet. There was no reason to stay, though. it is just a matter of chances and obstacles. Off I go, anyway.

I can't help but thinking about such deal for a little while. I walk on and waited for something to happen. I don't hope to run into somebody, and there is no way for something so would happen. I just feel certain need to go and forget about the boredom of the lately days. This stroll is meant to last only a short while. Street noises muffle my thoughts as I see all passers-by go their way, though I don't bother to pay enough attention to them. At my eyes they are just part of a dull city landscape, a colorful shadowplay far too barren to bear expectations, if any. Everything has become so strange and yet so boring. It seems there is nothing worthy enough to attach oneself to. By now I can't think of anyone I want to relate myself with. Everyone is boring. Lack results in numbness, after all. Caring too much about certain things leads to stop caring. Material goods mean nothing to me, since the needs of the moment cannot be satisfied by them.

Somehow, I hover down the pavement, waiting for someone whom I lost after a short while. Maybe I just go out to find out if I could ever meet her, wishing for it to happen--if I stay at home, my chances to see her again become more remote. I know I can't totally rely on an image of hers anymore. She lives now in the deepest part of my memory, so that she is far beyond my reach. I don't find her. I have no helm to do so. In demi-comatose spirits, I just make my way back to my shelter. I navigate under the dim lamplights of the empty streets and ponder about nonsense. Sometimes I can't easily accept that nothing in life is forced to have a purpose, either good or bad. Life in itself conceals no meaning, it is just a glitsch and then you die. I cannot bear this pointlessness, this grayish solitude. Everyday I want to see her. Everyday I lose her. Everyday I have nowhere to go, no one to rely on.

Your image is the only thing that seems to be left for me. Every night, before I fall asleep, I try to make an illusory embodiment from such mirage in whom I can pour all the feelings I have to keep for myself.