The All Too Quiet Dark

It would seem that this heavy season is yet again inescapable. In the way that beliefs change upon subjection to unwavering fact, I am no longer a believer in the dusk will soon become dawn outlook. This creep toward midnight implies too much for my perforated heart to hold without splitting. And morning is no longer the salve it once was. I am going to pieces, smashing them back together again, then going to pieces all over. It's become the one constant in my otherwise hurricane life. I learn with growing assurance that my loves, joys and fascinations will wilt like petals on an unwatered stalk leaving nothing but a withered, gnarled skeleton eager to hide himself behind as much flowery language and licentiousness as is commonly known by 10 men. And yet I haven't the strength of even half of one. I have these moments- these glimpses into the excitement I used to know- during which I see shades of the person I once was and want again to become (oh, the futility of growing up while glueing one's feet to the floor). Just the other day I was on the train, en route to someplace of no importance, when I overheard the somewhat bland voices of two females discussing something equally boring. As I am still by nature a curious person, I stole a glance at their faces (they stood just next to me) and noticed that they both appeared to be much more interesting than their conversation would have implied. I elected to continue listening while feigning interest in the open book pressed nearly to my nose. We happened to exit at the same stop and I allowed myself the odd treat of following behind the two of them (back a few paces naturally) so I could maintain my unassuming observation just a few moments longer. What with it being the first time I was permitted a full head-to-toe view of them since having begun paying any attention it was of course delightful to discover they were both in possession of exquisite legs. Having listened in to their discourse for the duration of our train ride I felt a moderate sense of fraternity with them (unrequited I'm sure) and thus upon regarding their legs - indeed some of the prettiest I have ever laid eyes on - it was as though I were just learning my fiance enjoyed bondage or my brother preferred cats to dogs; this additional bit of information that, while not terribly pivotal, painted them in a wholly new way. And then the moment was done. I walked home. And nothing remarkable happened for quite some time. This is the Hell I seem to always be either running from or slipping toward. I wish to God I knew rest.