Deconstruction

The countryside was gray and barren. Tall charcoal gray punched upward from ashen ground in the forefront of an inky backdrop skyline. Lamp light emanated forward around my face and eyes to illumine the area of my directional gaze. The car door was open and waiting for me on this abandoned flat of land, the engine running, bodies inside felt impatient to get moving. I walked across the dusty ground toward the vehicle and moved to get into the front seat. Familiar faces noticed me, told me to get out so she could get that seat as she slid into the car past me. A cloud of gray-white chalk dust sprayed upward from the spinning tire and the car wallowed down and then side to side, catching traction in rapid escape, leaving me alone in this charred wasteland. The shape and edges lose form into constricting obscurity.

"Just An Observation"

This is a response to an email I received.

Colors droop overhead as a sky-wide drape, brightening the shadowy dew-dripped neighborhood in the wee hours of morning, and coats the dark like a descending web of pastel potential in my surrounding vista walk to retrieve the morning paper. She's there, already, always, in my mind.

Reaching out to me, almost scolding me from afar, her words touch my skin in my surprise and her possible concern. This extended communication is uncomfortable for both of us, I think too much, her words contain the familiar tone.

I stayed up late the evening I found her message, and thought over many feelings and memories and responses.

I crafted many retorts, defenses, justifications...then I considered not responding; it would be easy to never reply to a tentacle of the deep past, pretend it never was seen.

Your observation is truthful, it is stinging in the acuity, the simplicity collapses my complex, imaginary architecture of procrastination and delay. Yet, you do not spur me forward. You are not an inspiration. The words in your letter's injunction in my stagnant repetition of living is simply a gauge of my inaction. I do, indeed, see your point.

I'm somewhat comforted to find your life is good. I'm confused by you asking how I am, as if you haven't already determined I'm aloof or off track. And I wonder, truly ponder, if your quick message wasn't more than a guilt-ridden Hallmark, missing either the "I'm sorry", the "Thank you", or the "Just thinking of you".

Sunrise, sunset
Remember...forget
The shared past