Now I am looking out my window to that of another. This man looked vaguely familiar yet was older than most of my acquaintances. He looked Weathered, not of the outdoor variety, but still Well Worn. Weary. He was opening pill bottles one at a time – medication – for various ailments, most resulting from the fore mentioned ‘Weathering’.
He watched himself in his own mirror as he dropped each pill into a small crystalline dish sitting on tiled countertop. One by one until there were eight. Eight pills in the crystalline plate. He stared at them wondering if they were worth taking and how close would he be to the end of it all if he decided to stop altogether. Would he go fast, or slow, from some kind of rot inside to take his heart, his gut, his spine or his mind ?
He trusted. And Lost. In his youth he proclaimed with naive hubris “I believe you trust someone until they prove you wrong then you never trust them again.”
Of course he had it precisely reversed, and that was his first big mistake. No one gives a shit about you, Clarence. You are not the savior nor the center of their lives. They are!
They don’t trust you for a second, Clarence. Understand that. No one trusts you. … and they sure don’t need your blessings or salvation for redemption.
You are the background, scenery, atmospherics, part of a mingling choreography all warped around Them. Not you, Clarence.
(Forgive me. I have no right to 'bestow' a name on you...sir. I belittle you because I fear you. I could be you in some years time not long.)
He raises a glass, then the pill dish, tipping it efficiently into his mouth contents slide onto tongue and he sips water from the glass through a green straw. He wipes his chin. Looks again into his own sagging eyes, then turns out the light. Did he brush his teeth? He did not remember.
The window goes black, as does the mirror. No more peering into this void. No more stranger to avoid.
I’ve trusted and lost. I’ve been disappointed and I have disappointed, I have exceeded expectation, but come short of more. Mine included. The fault was mine, the gift mine to waste. We make choices, or they are made for us. I have been lied to and I have lied.
Morals are the guise that disguise survival.
