Exits and Doors

brunel-johnson-368289

The cold air and these samey days make me want to sleep, and yet there are words to be written and stories to be conjured that circle and swirl around my mind like the memory of your eyes. The streets are cold and the trees dead. Traffic is sparse but there are still too many people around and they get in my way. Such a grumpy fuck, but people are the problem. Without them, my soul is as light as air. The kids are out of school. They hang around shivering not knowing what to do with themselves. Some go in and out of discount stores while others sit on benches watching those that pass them by. It’s a painful existence, but one we all go through I guess. The trick is coming out the other side. Some never do. Some give in and turn back, while there are those that go on to scar everything and everyone they touch. Leaving them behind, I observe a group of old people crossing the road near the local church. All hunched up and grey, they stumble and don’t nearly make it before the lights change, but luckily for them, they do. Does the idea of God help them confront the tangible reality of dying, or does death hold no fear because they know that this place is just a stepping stone to something more? I wonder. Watching them as they disappear beyond the wooden doors of a church I’ve known my entire life, I make my way down streets covered with dead and wet leaves. The roots of trees push up through the paving slabs. Many are broken and crumble beneath my feet. Someone I used to work with died the other day. He was a few years older than me and we didn’t speak, but we did acknowledge each other in the corridor with a simple nod of the head. So yeah, he died and now that’s that. Did he leave a legacy behind, or will his presence fade like mist on a summers morning? Did he speak his truth and love with both sides of his heart, or did he just go with the flow hoping that tomorrow was always one day ahead? Closing my eyes, I visualize your own and then just like that the words dance and another door opens as quickly as the last one shut.

A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on Amazon.co.uk

A Journal for Damned Lovers Volumes 1 & 2 on Amazon.com

12 replies »

  1. ” but luckily for them, they do. Does the idea of God help them confront the tangible reality of dying, or does death hold no fear because they know that this place is just a stepping stone to something more? I wonder.”

    Loved reading the way you said it. It’s very difficult to dust your words off–readers carry them with themselves like hauntings. The fog is typical representation of hellish realms in buddhist texts though in general it beautifully depicts mystery that life is. ā¤

    • Thank you, my friend. I am honoured by your words.

      I’m not a religious man, and yet I do believe there is something more to this existence than birth and death. I’m not sure what, but I feel it in my bones, and it’s something that often influences my words. The mystery is what keeps us searching. Those that don’t search live a wasted life.

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