Illusions

Every person,
all the events in your life
are there because
you have drawn them there.
What you choose
to do with them is
up to you

I gently place my drink on the countertop in front of me. This dimly lit room seemed to me more radiant than the other places I’ve been to, maybe because this time I had finally realized something I should have years ago. Here in this musty old pub I’ve found my salvation. Though it injures my soul to think about it, it had saved me from an existence of suffering, at this instant I can stand up and tread one foot in front of the other.

I lay my tab on the counter. Some loose change I gained from only God knows where. The barkeep - like all others I’ve met- took the change and wiped of my place for the next sorry bastard that came his way. I’m used to the darkness of the night. The night for me is a different world. Scents not often smelled, textures not often touched, sights not often seen. The darkness of nighttime envelops your spirit and makes you one with it.

I put on my old rag coat on and stepped out of the pub. In to the silence of the night I have grown to love so much. My hands closed fist on the pockets of my coat head stooped down in seclusion. I didn’t bother to look forward to where I was headed. In the night you’re allowed to drift. The street lights lit my way as I strolled along this sidewalk miles ahead of me was the same obscurity I so cherished. And recalling her it dawned on me. I saw her as how I wanted her to be, not as how she really was.

We met at a time before I was capable of remembering she was innocent back then maybe that’s how I pictured her. She stole my heart in a blink of an eye and from then on my life has changes so profusely. I never managed to get up from that instant on.

On this concrete harsh world I treaded, on this undemanding sidewalk I trudged. Contemplating the time I have spent with her. Was it a waste? I have come across this lamp post hundreds of times in my life but now, to me, it didn’t appear to be just a normal lamp post. I stood under its radiant beams staring at the edifice in front. Windows illuminate with the light from their owners bedrooms or kitchens or studies silhouettes of people pass across while I stood there, imagining my self in those bounds, those limits. Love changes a man it makes him keen on the suffering of his tortured spirit.

I crossed the street hands in my coat looking both ways and glad to reach the other side. I was happy to acknowledge a fellow drifter along my path. here in the hours of darkness everyone are friends we share a sorrow only we know. Blissful inhabitants they turn their backs at the night and close their eyes and sleep… I never had that comfort. ..

I walked to the park where she and I had passed in more than one occasion. Now this park seemed empty and dull. Sat on a rickety rusted bench and drifted away here in the shadows of both the night and the deep alcoves of my distorted consciousness. The sounds of the night echo in my ears crickets scrape their legs together to emit a constant ring, irritating yet soothing at the same time. The deep croaks of the frogs near the lake join the crickets’ tune to form a melody of night’s orchestra with me and the thought of her in the middle of it all.

She had entered my life not of our own free will, fate has decided that on that day she will toy with us, the stars got bored of watching re-runs of soap operas that they decided to amuse themselves with two persons not considerate of their feelings all these events were not of our fault people come in to your life not knowing how they can shape it the burden falls on us on how we allow them to do the shaping.

I had sat on this bench for nearly an hour now. Still wallowing in the enveloping darkness; I saw her for what I wanted her to be and there lay my flaw. I had put her upon a pedestal so high that only God himself had comparison; to me she always had a gleam of innocence within her. For I loved her so and that is the reason I pictured her to be what she was not.

We all practice being fictional for a while and then later on. We find out that the fictional characters we created are more real than people with bodies and hearts. I gave my soul to a fictional character and beleaguered myself for her. We are all free to do whatever we want to do that’s the beauty of being human and she did whatever she delighted to do. I had been so sightless to perceive what it was doing to me and I had managed to let this illusory character destroy the person I am. She was not that way. She was not how I depict her to be. Yet the consoling fact of the matter is that I was more than willing to make her jus that imaginary character because I felt that it defined me as a person…what was I without my agony? What was I without my pain?

The howl of a stray dog cuts my lamentation. I stood up the bench it squeaked like a mouse caught on a trap it was time to end this night. The sun was rising as I walked passed through the park leading to my home people seem to be getting up starting their days right. Men mumbling useless figures as they jogged, “I’m the king of the world” that’s what they mean to say to one another. Women bantering endlessly at the mess they had to sweep off the street. A jogger passed by hitting me from behind looking at me in a peculiar way. Like I’m not supposed to be here; his right this is not my kind you are not my people.

I’m home. I entered my room the shutters clanked as they covered the window. I locked my door ending it with a gentle click. It’s my turn to turn my back… it’s my turn to close my eyes…