Lake Summers

The reflection in the water and the way the clouds moved overhead, quickly, scaling the sky like a puff of smoke, it all just culminated, I suppose. I had no other words for it, and that seemed to be happening a lot more lately. The way everything revolved around me seemed to take my breath away at every instance that it could. A drop of rain off of the roof and into the dirt after a short shower, or the wind blowing a palm frawn in the middle of the day, or just some people walking on the side of the road when the heat is coming down, heads looking down and up every now and then; everything struck me in a way that reminded me of the absurdity of life. Camus had already written that story though, so what did I have left to fill in at all? Even if it didn't matter, couldn't some one still ask for the meaning back into it? Maybe, and that was the key word really.

Maybe.

Last night the world rushed by. The sky was dark and the clouds just covered up any stars that might have shone that evening. So all there was was the darkness of the sky and the light that reflected off of it. Amber, dark amber, though, light sometimes and even a little bit purple. All the colors came together in a strange way that made it feel as if I wasn't just in the backseat of a car looking out the window, fireflies of orange light passing by over my head; streetlights. No, it felt like a dream. I put my head back and the moon was covered slightly behind the clouds. No stars next to it, but the trees passed by in front of the moon, blotches of black capillaries, veins, branches in front of it like big, black masses. And what was I to do in that instance? I felt as if my life was just a dream again, my vision the camera. I was used to the feeling but, still, every time it came back around I was still alienated completely from myself, disassociation, depersonalization; it wasn't terrible. No. To be honest I felt as if I was just where I was suppose to be, the only place that I could logically be, in fact. And knowing that I was suppose to be there warmed me. Yes, the only place that I could have been and the only place my feet would have taken me.

Patterns and all that. It'd all reflect in lines of light against the metal gleaming off of the buildings. Was this it all just fast forward to the center? I had always hoped that the tape of my life would always play, though. But oh well. The glass was mostly blue but in one of them, the golden sun reflecting like some ones spirit flying out of their eyes, gold and burning with passion. I scratched at the stubble on my frown feeling lost in an empire of working humans, lost in one of their tunnels. Then I smiled; no one knew! No one in the world knew what exactly was happening here but me! I the only one who could actually feel everything that was defining this moment in the infinite loop of time. It melted in the back of my mind as I stood there, trying to decide whether or not I could walk up and ask where the printing room was. (Something beat through the air, through me, between the gap in my heart beat. It rang with a low and slow pulse, a bass note in the very back of my soul.) 

Sunday morning, steamy out of the cup and light falling in through the windows in rays of white, white purity. And nothing was making a sound, sleeping in on another lazy day, trying to keep ahold of their dreams with the tips of their fingers. That's what I had been looking for: something small and concrete to put some gross amount of meaning in instead of everything that was vague. Maybe that was it.

Morning was coming, and hopefully everything would be on time.