Here I sit in the dark, with the moonlight barely penetrating the gloom of the room. The light of my mac is the only glow within, giving me the look of one haunted. Maybe I am.
Haunted by desires unfulfilled, and memories. Yearning that things could have remained as they were and still hoping that the harshness of reality will take another step back and leave me in peace. In relative peace.
For escapism can no longer be a lasting release. Once that barrier of denial was broken it meant that I have been forever forced to be in a state of duality… aware of more than I have been before, and making conscious choices because it has been the only way to be.
Strains of an Al Jarreau tune filtering through my consciousness as I type, and it makes me sad. It reminds me of the lies we tell ourselves to get through some days, in vain, hoping to emerge unscathed… only to sometimes fail.
A choice is looming on the horizon. A question mark hangs in the air. An answer, the only obvious answer, is slamming against my consciousness, reminding me of its presence. Annoying and unrelenting.
I am no longer clear about my reasons for resisting its presence. But my mind is weak with exhaustion, overburdened by a fully charged week – the incredible high of being on the go now dragged into balance by a melancholy brought on by the weekend ‘triggers’ that I have come to expect, which I no longer have the strength to attempt to influence change.
Truly, it is out of my control… yet somewhere along the way, ‘acceptance of the things I can’t change’ has come to equate ‘things that I can.’ When did I form that belief?
But it’s okay. I am okay, and everything will be fine. Tomorrow is another day and once sleep claims me, my troubles will fade away again like dew on a tropical morning. The sun rising with renewed vigour, as will I.
Until then though, it’s just us….and Jarreau.