Different

I've missed things when I was away. Things you take for granted. Things I used to take for granted.

I had plenty of time. All the time in the world. Seconds were hours that felt like days. There was nothing else to do but miss things and shift my mind into imagination. So there I was, thinking and breathing and forgetting myself time and time again. Stepping outside of myself and venturing. 

I pictured myself in a field when I closed my eyes. I could see myself walking among wheats, touching them with my fingertips. The sun was shining. It was blinding. A solar flare was ever-present in my sight. I didn't mind. I liked it. It gave me a sensation of warmth. Something I've missed so much. One of many things. Tip of the iceberg.

Now that I'm back I don't feel it the same way. I always knew deep inside me that it would be different. I thought it would be better. That's the truth. When I felt it again, really felt it, I was left wanting. Wanting more from it, demanding it to match my expectations.

It's not its fault. I guess my expectations were skewed by years of solitude. My imagination added certain features, enhanced the picture. It helped at the time. It allowed me to fight off desperation and hopelesness. For that I'll forever be greatful.

But as I lay down now, back here, I close my eyes yet again and drift...

Seconds become hours that feel like days.

There's the familiar warmth. Not the real one. The one that's exclusive to me.

It's not leaving me anytime soon.

At Night

Broken silence fills the void
Recites the words from a grimoire
A damning poem, stricken down with grief
Fallen short, fallen short, yet again

A smolder of hope gets beaten
Down with rain

Palms still clenched, though vaguely
Rest resigned on wet ground

Should've seen it coming from afar
Haven't learnt from past mistakes

It's all in the head
Fucking empty space
Winds inside whistle still, every night

All dark
All dark
My eyes can't see
A thing
A thing
My ears can't hear
A sound
A sound
It's all just gone away
For good
For good
Or till the next time, the next day

Try again

I didn't mind the rain that night. I didn't even feel it on me. I just saw it with my eyes as I was making my way through it.

When you walk in a trance, your mind fixed on the goal, you lose connection with your nerve endings. They go numb. They hide, dulled, they know it's not their time.

You can walk for miles and not feel anything. No pain in your body, no fatigue, no distractions.

Time slows down when you're walking like that. Slow motion and blurriness take over. A filter is applied to your screen. Your eyes. You see things you normally don't pay attention to. Things you're unable to see because your mind's wanderin'. You're looking at a film reel, frame by frame. I could see raindrops descending onto my face. I could see reflections of myself in falling water.

That didn't matter one bit. It only added to the theme. A mere decoration.

I kept making my way through the tunnel. A tunnel of focused thoughts that rearranged the surroundings, morphed them into a unified block of colors and shapes. Trees, buildings, people, air, life, every atom, every particle were more or less one entity. A collage.

They made for a border. A perimeter. If you would ever get distracted and breached it, you would fall.

You would lose. Kind of. You would lose the sight of your goal. For a brief moment you would see it being swept away. A result of your carelessness.

I've been there.

I've fallen.

Many times. Down the abyss.

It hurts more when you're falling down than when you finally hit the ground. It's when you see the path through your desperately outstretched palm, it hurts the most. You see it slipping away. Fading in the distance.

At least when you hit the bottom you know you've reached the low point. A point from which you can only build up. So you gather yourself. You can curse under your nose all you want. I know I have. It's a long fucking journey. You dust off your clothes and start the climb. Make your way back up again. Take a deep breath. Enter the tunnel. Try again.

It's not easy. I takes an insurmountable toll. But it's all there is. You try again. I try again.

Focus on the goal. Give it all you've got. No matter the cost. Make your way through the rain. 

Apocalypse Is Now, Through Social Media

It was year 2015. I was already running late to see a friend of mine. We'd always create an event of meeting each other in Goggle Foods restaurant on Thursday afternoon to reminisce about old times. Particularly events that have occurred on Thursdays.

I finally made my way to the restaurant where my friend was waiting for me. He had an impatient look on his face and was ready to use a messenger to message me.

"What is app, dude!" I greeted him.

"Hi. Finally. I was beginning to think you wouldn't even make it in time for the #FFs tomorrow," he joked.

"Sorry, got a bit caught up in an argument. Someone's been tagging me and I didn't like it. No #comment. I've unfriended and blocked them now so I hope it's gonna be alright."

A waitress approached. She was wearing cool glasses even though her sight was perfect.

"#Greetings, can I take your order? Currently trending are #PancakesReportedForSpam, ten times shared #InstaRisotto, and our speciality, #Kim'sLard," she offered.

"No, #ThankYou. I'd like this 140 character #sushi with a brightened up Valencia filter on it, an #AppleJuice, looped ten times, and a glass of loved #redvino," I said.

"And for you, #sir?" she asked my friend.

"Let's see... I'll take a #decent #spaghetti, twice reblogged, an eyeOS salad with the recent 11.1 update and a cheeky DM to drink."

The waitress wrote it all down on her tablet and disappeared behind a corner.

"Man, this is my favourite place. Loved it ever since I've stumbled upon it five years ago. I would give it a thousand likes if I could. But the #prices have gone way up recently. Food's cheaper on #Nile now."

"Tell me about it. It gives me a sad emoji. Economy's gone to shit since @improvidentgareth55 became President. I regret retweeting him during the elections. I've pinned my hopes on him. I would have retweeted @damien_shrewd now if I could."

"Oh well, his #selfies and #programme were convincing, AND he was advertising the newest 5.4 GreenRobot software," I gasped and we both dived into our phones to check BassFeet news. 

Weariness

A scruffy and jaded looking man asked for another shot of whiskey.

"You sure you want more of those, Jim?" asked the barman with an intonation of a man who has grown accustomed to repeating this phrase over and over again.

Jim just motioned with his hand towards the empty glass in front of him with an equally trained gesture. It was more of a reflex, really.

If you woke him up in the middle of the night he could still order a shot of whiskey flawlessly.

"You haven't told me why you came back," said the barman. It was a late Thursday afternoon and the crowd was sparse. Lack of better options convinced the barman to pick up the conversation again.

"What?" asked Jim. He almost looked up from his glass. He was in his fourties and he was tired. His neck was muscular from looking up from his glass and asking for another shot of whiskey.

"You've told me you left this place 20 years ago. You said you traveled a lot. But you came back here. Why?"

"I don't know. Who the fuck cares?" Jim asked as he played with his glass of whiskey. If he was a glass he'd be filled with bitterness.

Jim wasn't a wordsmith. He wasn't even a wordsmith's apprentice. Not anymore, anyway.

He emptied the glass and asked for another. The barman complied.

"Besides," Jim continued, "Like I said, I don't know. I guess maybe I wanted to see what changed here over the years."

"And what do you think? 20 years is a lot of time."

"No shit," Jim replied as he was adjusting himself on the bar stool. "Barely recognize this old shithole. Coffee shops and whatnot everywhere. Who the fuck drinks so much coffee?"

"Young people and hipsters. And young hipsters," said the barman as he was drying up glasses with a towel.

"What the fuck is a hipster? There's more coffee shops than bars or food stores."

Jim had no time for the youth. He knew exactly how much of a twat he was in his day.

"Those young pricks never change. They stay the same, just go different ways about their twatishness," he said, "World around them changes. Circumstances change. But at their core they're always tedious little prats until they grow up and see shit in different light. Get some perspective, you know. That doesn't happen till they walk out of that coffee shops and stop wearing stupid clothes and sitting with their faces stuck in a fucking phone and whatever that fucking silver plank is. It's got an apple logo on it."

Jim now hated coffee, stupid clothes, technology and apples. He had a great capacity for hating things. You couldn't beat him at a game of hate. Disdain and contempt were his forté.

"Pour me another round," he said to the barman. "Probably my last one for tonight. Life's tiring when you have to deal with so much shit around you. I think I came back here 'cause I remembered it to be a quiet place. You could fucking think here. And now? Strange noises and commotion and those," he clenched his fist slightly, "fucking coffee shops on every damn corner. This town has got like everywhere else. Looks like them, is like them. Fuck originality, huh?"

He received his whiskey and downed it instantly. He put down his final empty glass for tonight with an expertise of a seasoned drinker. He threw a bill on the counter and left without saying a word.

He'll probably be back tomorrow. If not in this bar, then another one. If not in this town, then somewhere else. It's all the same now, anyway.