As it turns out--a photograph was the most potent part of my repertoire.
A combination of pity, regret, the cognizance of the passage of time without the appreciation or reverence for it.
First it was the photos from the cemetery. They were just the beginning.
Then the smile after the cemetery. Until now, I had been unaware of this moment's documentation.
An immeasurable sense of guilt.
The wrong survivor is what I kept telling myself. The only survivor, in fact.
Everything was heavier now. As it seemed fated to be. They would silently tail me for the rest of my life--making certain that my sole--my cheating around the bush--wasn't for not.
The turning point had come--and passed.
Night haunts of my newfound manifest destiny would stay fresh on the horizon--
for my duration.
For some reason, I couldn't shake the thought, "It was to be expected."
I think that last line is a throw-away...
ReplyDeletewas this inspired by the boy who survived the crash in Europe last week?
But why the guilt? Unless it was the pilot who survived, or even a flight attendant... a passenger should feel no more guilt for being the sole survivor than an actor should feel for scoring a role auditioned by countless others. Unless cheating was involved.
Guilt here, I say, denotes weakness of sense of self-worth. Thankful... yes, resolute to not waste an opportunity... absosf'inlutely... but guilty? Never.
just sayin' <<<throwaway line ;)
Nothing should ever be expected!!!!!
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