Uncertainties

Muscles compressed around an immobile spine. All the time this bright Sunday sunshine beaming through the windows, sounds from the street a constant reminder of a life outside. Finally, in the evening, I put on clothes, boots, music, I go out. Walk around the island and look at the concrete. It is, as ever, reassuring. I sit on a park bench and write, a quiet refuge nestled in along a hedge, unassuming. I never could write in cafés, even though it is the fashionable thing to do. By the time I walk the hill back to the place where I sleep, pink clouds billowing out at the point where the street ends in a sharp drop to the harbor, I feel revived, if only partly.

These wretched spirals into isolation and dread, these long hours of doubt and longing.. Does everyone carry them in their hearts? Do they carry on their daily lives under such heavy boulders and simply bear it? Is this what it is to be human?

Dumbfounded, I creep into my cot. Tomorrow is Monday. The world begins anew.