Fragmentation

I stepped from one heavy world into another as my feet took me away from the doorway.
Suddenly the bleary sun seems much too bright.
Medium clouds streaked paleing skies, and grey pavement sounded with footfall.
Marching on. Tired.
Not quite awake.

The summer heat had not quite settled into our eyes.
Lines were still sharp, stationary objects remained so.
But everything just seemed so far away, and reaching them seemed too much of an effort to make.
A horn blasted. Swish. Silence.

It felt lighter compared to the walls of the house, the strangling curtains, the heavy oak door, the muffling carpet and the subtle stares.
Cold war.

There was a crowd. A ringing phone. Then many.
People shuffled left and right, packed tightly into a gargantuan mass, and yet all utterly alone.
Awkward whispered permeated the air, people coughed, people avoided eye contact, people stared into ipods and phones.
Wouldn't be less awkward if people interacted in such a small space?
School girls in packs. Giggling.

The train comes, first in the grating squeal of the tracks, in a dull rumble, then in a rush of air.
The door rattles open and the people crowd around seeming eager.
No doubt it was the exact opposite of what they felt.
Still, it was a necessity to appear so.
A familiar face.
An unfamiliar situation.

Locked inside. Laughter. Dignity put temporarily aside and all forgotten.
A miscalculation that was right.
A wave. A smile.
Carry on.
Awkwardness and an attempt to look comfortable.
An introduction.
A stretch of silence.
Destination.

Once more, you willingly enter my domain.
Who said who belongs?
Who dictates.
Not I.

Lost.
I'm lost.
Looking for the lost.
Looking for fellow losts.
The losts morphed into founds and disappeared into the crowd.

Another familiar face, but this time, it would be wiser to run.
Another average day.
A disturbing continuation of the last.

Store of books, shelves, tiers, rows, aisles.
Work. Change of routine.
Not wanting to return home.
A reminiscence of days. And nights. And a frame of mind.
Never again will they haunt the living.

A confession, forgiveness, and despair.
Perhaps despair is not the right work.
Given up.

I despise everything numerical ... *teacher speaks, pauses, then chuckles*
I didnt expect that, he says.
I didnt either sir. I didnt either.

Just another day.