The unfinished work of a 24 year old

The sprint was easier than the stroll but more tiring. For that span of time, cool breeze hushing past the ear, the entire concentration was on breathing, the throbbing heart, the knots forming in my calves. Standing now, breathless, stooping with arms resting on my knees, I had that old familiar feeling. Goosebumps! Someone is watching me, closely, intently, with purpose and without a break.

I looked from the corner of my eyes, still pretending to breathe heavily. No shadows creeping up, no silhouettes slipping away, no ghouls or zombies rushing in, a land of boredom for the paranoid. My phone is about to die. If it should die, it must do so on a high note. I wish I had some plastic pop songs on my phone. I slowly stood up straight, did a three sixty degree turn and started heading north. I had not yet decided if I was running from or to.

The map of events was vague. Something to do with being late. I have been carefully moving towards it, joining moments, events. It will sound crazy, but I am not, I am not crazy. I have been seeing the paths that I haven't walked. Let me try to clarify, I have been seeing myself experiencing the choices I did not make. This other me is a doctor, successful, well established, in love and about to kill himself.

I had a chat with him in the morning. I mean it, really. Hang on, back up, I have to tell you how. Otherwise none of this makes sense. I see him in reflections, not always, at times, although now a days we have longer moments, discussions spanning over hours. The first time I noticed it, I died, well almost. I was looking at me, I mean from the mirror at me and my lips were moving and a faint hum echoed, although I could feel my lips were not moving. I jumped back and closed my eyes. When I opened it, I was on the floor and so was I behind the mirror.

32

It has been a long time old friend.

How are you? Where have you been? Why don't you stay in touch? What do you mean I don't either? You have always been a drama queen. Screw you. Reminds me of the ruckus we conjured with the dreams of a crow? Those were the days.

Remember how we painted sirens with words and burnt them in cold? Remember how we trudged through dream induced frenzies and sang till we bled from our ears? The dawn was scared of us, the night tiptoed nervously. I always thought you were off scale. The stories you told were not mine to pen, always abstract, always weird. Aberrations.

I am settled now. Seriously, I mean it. Its not a word, its a state. I quite like it. Helps me focus on things when I stand still. I got a job, quit drinking, got married, bought a car, and am now planning to buy a house. But you already know that, don't you? You were there, silent and neutral.

Where were you? Why did you come back? What do you want? Tell me the truth. Don't look at me, just speak your piece and leave. Fine. You were always here. Waiting. I am the one who came back. I am the one who folded. I am the one wearing lies.

So lie to me. Lie like a mother telling her bed ridden child that death will not reach her. Lie like a son telling his dying father that he never resented him. Lie like the promise of tomorrow as opposed to the human condition. Lie like a farewell to a friend. Lie like you would lie to yourself.

Help me fade in the labyrinths of your lies. Drown me in sights and sounds of warmth, take away my memories, my dreams, my frenzied lyrics. The darkness still calls to me. Leave the metronome so I can count, lose count, count the number of times I lose count, lose my mind, count the number of times I lose my mind, and so on. I leave you this husk. Do what you please with it. If I wake up, I don't want to remember. Help me forget, just leave me your song. Sing it to me, would you?

"... cold as a razor blade
tight as a tourniquet
dry as a funeral drum ..."

                                                                                                                        - old friend