Solitarily Detached
Spend the day jotting down thoughts, and reminiscing over time.
Wondering and wondering. The low-level hum of the library enclosure harnesses sentiments of security. Sitting and basking in the peace. No children. No babies. No uncomfortable silences. The teen years feel so very far away.
I look at my weathered and scarred face. The incline jowl from cancer. The half beard of radiation. The loss of a glint in the eye. I’m heavy of foot but now light in weight. How did I manage to get through those last months of therapy? How did I keep yelling at myself to never give up, to keep on going, to never stop, never give in? Where has all that energy gone?
I can’t move on.
There’s a lingering doubt. A pit dug deep into my subconscious. Why bother? What is the point? The fatal aftermath of survival. Is it all worth it?
This library, a spacious playground for my thoughts, is leading to despair — too much time to kill. I look up but see nothing but hollow rows of thoughts and murmured ideas. How do I win back my enthusiasm? Is there a tournament? A mind-game Finale stratified with champions of boot camps and personal trainers ubiquitous in their cheer. “You’re the best!” They all scream in unison. “DON’T STOP! ONE MORE PUSH!”
