So similar it was scary at first, later, it seemed like a second chance to make it right. So right at first it was unbelievable, later, it was unbelievable. So sweet at first it was all there ever was, so true it brought the desired rest. So perfect at first it seemed like it was predestined, later, could it be divine? In retrospect it seemed foolish to thread the same path and expect a different result, but the gift came in a different package.
The wound wide and open, festering and painful, the timing so wrong it’s beyond reasoning. The building tumbling down when it should be getting to the completion stage, the reality so terrible it should have been anticipated but was not. History repeated itself so exact it was scary at first, later it seem predestined.
Looking into the mist, the morning dew drenching, the cold biting like the worst Harmattan ever experienced. Hunger far more than expected, cloud so thick it’s like the heaven is about to burst open. Dreams made new meaning, words takes up life of its own, the siren has been blowing from down the street yet the road was crossed with reckless abandon.
Out with the old in with the new, the favorite track placed on repeat, standing in front of the mirror looking at the swollen face, no hiding what the eyes can see, no denying what the hand can touch. Questions run through the mind like a torrential rain, and like a driver on a lonely road the scenery became a companion whether scenic or not.
Wandering down the lane of memory town looking into the window of houses used to be occupied or visited, wondering why caution was yet again thrown into the wind, wondering why the cinema house had to feature the movie again. Wondering why the ticket was bought even when memory prickled that the title was familiar. Wondering about the time gone by when there was a lot to do. Wondering why the latter always get worse than the former.
The scream tearing the hall without being heard the sound echoing through the wall of the mind. The silence so loud it’s deafening. Standing at the door way looking into the dark night, the morning seem so far away all sense of timing lost. How did it come to this. How did it come to this. How did it ever come to this. Why was the rules not followed, why the fall into the pit standing on the road well trodden.
When the bough breaks………………………
The chronicle for when the cloud clears and the time tells on the memory. Wrapped to be unveiled later, with an attempt to decipher the thoughts and feeling behind the words.
A page in the memoir.
To be continued..................