Circa 1994
I will not come back there and talk to you, no matter how much I may want to,
for you see, no one ever came back to talk to me.
Funny how time travel works that way.
What would I say to the one who sits as though a night watchman of the pencil sharpener? Cliches, empty promises ringing of hope?
Perhaps concrete directions would be better. A pocket travel guide to the future with dates, times, and moments all mapped out. It would be very handy I am sure.
But as I look around myself, at what surrounds me, sustains me, provides a buoyant sense of self it hits me: any help I give to you, poor isolated soul, risks erasing what encapsulates me.
This risk I cannot take.
So I must leave you to yourself, to be lost and found and lost yet again and again. To break and bend, to toughen and scar
I turn my gaze away from your sad, isolated figure. I can be no more help to you know than I could of been then and for that I am sorry. But as I look at where I stand and what surrounds me now, I realize there is only one thing I can tell you, you won't believe me I know, because I wouldn''t have believed then either, but it is the truth that in the end, it will work out.
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This is in need of some major editing but as it currently stands it works as a very rough start to a piece that has been floating around for awhile. I'm quite fond of the beginning but it dwindles from there. Perhaps now that a rough draft has been composed I'll be able to work on it more.
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