continuum
he was a day-laborer of sorts. slow to find the true meaning of what all this thought was about. he always thought he knew himself, but was constantly surprised of the day’s findings. it started to seem as if the days fused into one… each day felt more and more like the previous. with little encouragement, little energy, little enthusiasm, he grew lethargic. weak from the lack of excitement. but did he know every day was the same? or did he simply not have it in him any more? the will to continue? the will to explore?
the dryness became burning and that insistent itch that could only be scratched by the far reached of such dreamless sleep seemed less satisfying. he took another deep drag from the lit cigarette, smiling with intense anguish for the moments to come. was it déjà vu? or had he started learning the patterns of the day? the voices of the passers-by?
the silence of words spoken softly fill the thickening fog. with the rolling silence came the screeching sounds from afar. he looked to see if anyone else heard them, but no one seemed bothered. no one seemed there. the fog thickened as he fog morphed into the smoke from the last drag of the dwindling light at the tip of his fingers.