It’s been 40 hours. 37 if you don’t count the three hours I spent drifting in a state of near wakefulness.
I’ve desperately tried to exhaust my mind, to purge it of the debris that has built up inside.
To no avail.
Even this? An act of desperation.
How did he know? Am I that transparent? Within moments of our greeting he spoke the words I had only briefly considered speaking to him.
Is it possible to think a thing into existence? Did the very act of speaking my worst fear make it true? Or was it recognition?
I reach out, urgently seeking. Seeking affirmation I won’t trust. Seeking connection I can’t reciprocate.
Will you reject me? Was failing to know myself an act of dishonesty against you?
I’m lonely; please leave me alone. I can’t contribute to the conversation.
The glimmer has turned into a floodlight, and I understand it is almost over. But, I can’t help but wonder if there is anything more tragic than falling within feet of the finish line.