Wide Shut With Reveries

I was starting to wonder about why their heads were so indelibly lodged in the clouds. From what I'd heard, the stratosphere wasn't a friendly destination. In fact, it was much rougher than it was portrayed in the 1980s when we all still believed in the resolution of unrequited love and that everything was fluffy, plush even.

Then I started to wonder about back then. I found myself changing my mind--almost instantly. That's what inevitably happens when you suffer from 'heart problems.' Disillusions were exacerbated by an inability to have a rational conversation while sitting alone at the counter. G-ddamnit, the counter. It's the ledge--the you know--the diving board, the cliff, the ledge! But with a cushioned seat. That way your loneliness can be on display. Is it loneliness if no one else can see it? No. It's not. In that case, it's just solitude.

There hadn't been a mistake. There was no grandiose tirade. It was merely a wave of silence heaving itself over the room, blanketing us with its warning of disrupting the peace.

Mistakes, after all, were lapses in judgment, and I fancied myself a particularly accurate judge of character. And then I thought, "Maybe I was wrong." Maybe it's about closing your eyes.

Then again, maybe it's just about leaving the room.