I was trolling for some other material when I came across this . It moved me. Because, I recognized a large part of him, in me. I have a coffee table in my room which I hardly use. Oh, you will find an ashtray there, moved erratically from time to time depending upon the posture that I take on my bed. The table represents the change in my life. its covered with grime now running to about 8 months. Its thick. And people who asked me questions before have come to accept it as an integral part of my make-up. My mental make-up. I don't find any reason to clean it or give it away. Giving it away would entail throwing out a large part of my meaningless life. yes, meaningless. Its just a coffee table after all. black, smoked glass and, perhaps, when cleaned, look good. Or whatever good means to others. To me it looks. It stares at my foibles and that moment when it came into my life. It constantly reminds me of two people who in their interests stomped all over my interest.My interest was simple. And still is. My needs were simple. And still is. My wants were simple. And still is. My trust was simple. And it now is missing.
Is trust such a rare commodity or is it a cheap commodity that a relationship can be sacrificed at the basal indignity of an animal need being satiated(?) in some place that I know nothing of. Funny, isn't it?
I meant what trolling for material on the web leads you to and re-directs you to some article and I end up writing this. It takes a word, a visual, a whiff of some perfume and the smells of some kitchen's cooking that sets me off and opens up something raw that i had thought was healed and the scab dropped of into the realms of a bygone time when I mistakenly thought the sun shone for me and the morning's bird call was an eternal song of tranquility.
I am at peace. Peace of a different kind. And my levis has begun to fray. Who will give me my trust back?
And a pair of pants
