At The End Of The Road.

The world is changing.
Nothing that once made sense is coherent anymore.
Words are losing weight in the twilight of my own cognition.
Knowledge is a semblance of skill and sorrows accumulated by glories and shame.
The edges are limitless.

Born into this chaos was my grief.
Born into this Unknowing was my great disbelief.

Before the chaos I had form and structure, a pathway that was clear and distinct, a way that could have been constructed out of the cement and basalt of life. Life with it’s grey, contrary nature, it’s sharp, firm edges and solid matter. Then the road would have been straight forward, with well–engineered cambers, electrified tunnels and markings as white and luminous as the moon. That would have been a road worthy of remarkable praise. Instead, I am on a dusty, dark bit-metal scar winding into a small town on the edge of nothing.

And nothing is exactly where I am right now.
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It’s a small room, with an even smaller bathroom. Old wallpaper with rich mustard medallions and paisley weaves interlocking, and pristine enamel window frames. The panes are small and square, mottled and smoky grey, bundled together in sets of four. Four, four, four, four, window frame, mustard paisley, window frame, four, four, four, four. I count over and over. I like the rhythm of the count while I pull back the shower curtain and twist the taps into submission. Twist, crack, squeak, thud, pop then whoosh as the water is sucked up through what must be ancient pipes, comes rushing and falling through the showerhead. The walls of the shower cubby are linoleum, cracked and peeling.

The rhythm of anything functioning as it should is soothing in the midst of chaos.

Before it all, I never paid attention to the thudding momentum of a water pump, or a refrigerator fan. Even the click of the lightbulb on and off as you open and close the door has a pretty little sway to it. Life at the end of this metal road, in the nothing, is rhythmic and calm and empty enough that the silence consumes me. The peace in measuring out precise routines and motions restores solace in my soul.

What do you think?