Journey, the travel of a day. Adjourn, Sojourn, Journal.
Stasis, stationary, static, stanchion, stay.
I work my way, every fiber of my motivation resisting motion; a once wet washrag in the sink, long ago dried and forgotten; the fibers stiff and crackling with the desire to not change form. Nonetheless, peeled apart to scrappily dust the counter; inefficient, but effective enough for pretense of sterility.
I move without moving, my day a series of motions. Smiles worn, greetings long ago rehearsed to the perfected emotional response in the addressee. “You’re so helpful, thank you!” or “That was such a nice young man.” These should not be mistaken as a disingenuous or insidious manifestation of narcissism or sociopathic behavior, but a sincere effort to not inflict my pain on others and bring light into the world where rests a travelling point of darkness that does not follow my, but is within me.
I take a drink from the Iced Latte, its plastic cup sealed with a lid that reads “SOLO”. It’s minutiae that manifest in the coincidence (others perceive as the divine ) that won’t leave me the hell alone. Were that the details as easily drawn as true and abiding love. Everything in this city reminds me of her, everything reminds me she is gone and I am alone.
I have myself, which little life advice columns tell me is the focus of being a better and whole person. I never wanted my journey to be alone. I have so much to give but perhaps that is an illusion.