bonhiver

bonhiver

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My least favorite memory of Paris is in the louvre. I was with somebody who couldn't appreciate the silent halls upon halls of works of art for what they are. She wanted to go to the Virgin Megastore across the way. I caved and went to cease her endless bitching. My biggest Parisian regret.

Dusk came and I began my trek out to that abandoned telescope I had found. It stood, surrounded by ruin, in the middle of the woods. There was no path leading to it; I just relied on my feet to guide me, to lead me to exploration and sight.

raise

I stood atop the brick and stone and raised my eyes upward. How I would love to shine like the moon, sway like the tree encased by the brick wall; even entrapped, the elm managed to move with such grace... such beauty. I jumped from the wall, and for seconds I moved like that tree, agile, graceful. Ultimately condemned, but free for the moment.

I have seconds to go, merely seconds. I spent years feeling like I was wasting time, had too much of it, and needed to waste it. Now, I've run out of time. I want those seconds to multiply, over take everything, extend into infinite space and save me.

I was on my knees attempting to sponge up the puddle on the floor. My efforts were little more than futile. As much as I swiped the sponge over the floor, I could not control the water seeping in from under the door.

He placed the kettle on the stove. He truly had felt bad about last night. He turned around to explain, but the his words were lost as he looked upon her sad stricken face.

We gathered that night in his apartment. I sat on the window sill, and gestured around the room, asking if he had any wine. With a shake of his head, he brought out the whiskey and joined me on the windowsill. We sat and drank and surveyed life, swirling below us.

I created a world that night. As I walked down the street, everything receded from my vision, the trees, the road, the sky all faded from view and lapsed into nothing. I was alone with infinity.

Where is my mission? Every day I become more afraid to do, more afraid to move. I fear my mission is nothing.

I faced the ocean that black dark night. Faced it and embraced it. Floated my way out to sea. I escaped.

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writing since 2010 · 17 entries · 17 days shown up

each square is a day—lit means Reid showed up.

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17days written

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on this day 16 years ago

Reid wrote about none
“Walking a tree lined street at dark, after the rain, alone. I think to myself, "and then there were none." A car passes by, and with it, I.”

the words Reid reaches for

nightsecondsnearmileslookingdarktreereminderlostroadpathsavestreetalonesurroundedfences