Étude in grey

Étude in grey

And he will wash it away. Old friends sloughing off like snake skin. New ones left wondering at his wariness. He has no past he wishes to share. He stares at a wet ring from his coffee mug, wipes it dry. He can handle small hurts.

But not big ones. Never.

They must remain locked deep within. Not even family knows where they're hidden. But he learned to avoid them, just-in-case, long ago. What good would it do now to take out tarnished trinkets, hold them up to the light, to see them for what they were. Lessons.

He would rather the world remain ignorant. There's no gain in reliving the past; but then, there's no gain living in this present. He once dreamed of the future, whatever good that would've done. It didn't come to pass, no more than those nightmares he perished in before every dawn.

Every night he still perishes before dawn.

Reborn, they would say, he welcomes the brightening day... around noon. Two coffees later he will speak to whomever about whatever, whenever they deign to speak first. They will chat about the weather, whether or not the home team will win, and who will die next.

It won't matter of course. Life sucks; death stinks. Like the dirty laundry he left in the sink... at the end of the day, he will wash the grey away.

© Kåre Enga

Edited from: "4 Études written in November "