Figures of strangers pass like shadows,
From right ahead,
Into periphery,
Into void.
Are they just automatons?
I know they see me.
I keep walking, one, two, one, two, counting it out, drowning it out.
We’ve thought on this too long and now the time’s come, the battle’s lost, depression won.
I run my hands along the cold stone walls along the promenade, now they’re just historical façade, defending us from crashing waves, concrete labour of the slaves.
I look out across the water.
I watch it slosh about. Like us, it’s cold and dark, it doesn’t know what it’s doing but occasionally it produces something that can think upon its own futility; at least this wall has some utility.
I lean upon it, peering down, I wonder if those waves are violent enough, that I would drown?
Too calm in spite of storm, I should have tried and would’ve died if I had come last week, alas I was too meek and here I am trying now to seek, a higher point, on wall, a peak, to take last fall and no more speak.
I look around at the passing people.
They’d only care if they’d have to see, there is no real sympathy, there is only you and me, a lonely man staring at you sea.
You’ve been here before, again, and again you will be here again, and again.
Not this time, not before, this here again cannot be again.
Once again, you’ve been here before, not just in body, in mind and thought.
Don’t you see this is not like before, again? This is a different type of pain. I’ve never had this pain before, this pain begs never again like never before.
…
What is it that you really want? You mope about here every month. You know you’re not the only one and you certainly shall not be the last. Think how old I am young man; I see the future’s like the past- this too shall pass.
…
Cold, dark, damp, stone. Hard, grey, smooth, stone. I can feel this so easily yet it’s so hard to feel. Into the air, free from gravity, free from the pull of original depravity, into the air…
Let me stop you there, you mention sin, you prove you care. I cannot see that I am the sea and it’s all there is to me. I cannot will or look or do. Think how jealous I am of you.
Why would you be jealous of this?
Cleft Habitus.com 