podeammöbius
Talk about getting too caught up in life. Or getting caught up in something that very strongly resembles life.
What day is it now? Today? Yesterday? I’m pretty sure it isn’t tomorrow. In a sleep induced haze (let’s not push the blame on substances just yet), I left something at small talk. A something that someone found, and returned to me.
I know, astonishing. And very heart-warmingly so.
It’s surprising how much time can be spent sitting by The River That Brings Us Life, alone, just staring out across the waters, alone, and thinking, alone. But alone is relative, for there were others sitting by there river, alone, and staring out across the waters, alone, and thinking, alone. Sure, you had your couples and your tourists and your happy families, but most of us were alone. With a sort of familiarity we sat, not making eye contact but so entirely aware that we’re entirely aware of one another, it seemed so much better than conversation.
There are some nights, talk should die.
–
After mellow sitting and mellow staring and mellow thinking, was a most interesting point of the night. Meeting someone vague interesting and his vaguely interesting companion, vague interest was always belied by distinct confusion. Where was this going? Why was this happening? What is this this?
–
Moments and people blur into a heady delightful mess, where you know you should be reaching out for the edges of the ride and scratching onto surfaces with your nails and trying to get the world back in focus, but the blur itself is the focus.
The heady mess is good. For sometimes, you don’t want to think about the people, no, not you nor you and definitely not you, for you know they’re thinking all too much about you.
You can’t ever be you anymore. You are you plus one. If you’re not looking for your plus, believe you me, the plus will come hunting for you. And why is it just one?
A point of mild irritation, that.
–
Work is over. Work was good. Work people were better, but I never realised it until work was done. It is most possible to miss people you don’t know, for it isn’t them that you’re missing, not exactly, but the vague possibility that you might get to know them sometime soon. Those familiar strange faces you see around the corners, and nod to cool calm recognition, and never really bother to engage in the realm out of your own head.
Work is over. Work was good.
–
Today is today, but only because it isn’t tomorrow not yesterday. If only today would be tomorrow, for it’s so tiring to wait for the möbius end.
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