Telling her would be the easy part, facing her was the challenge. He knew this wouldn't be the last time he will let her down, it definitely wasn't the first. If only he could control himself a little better, force himself to behave, it would likely be okay.
Those opportunities sorely missed could become the paths to success instead, the gateway to fulfilling needs, perhaps even pushing the mental tides further out to sea and decrease the wave frequency. Offer some respite to a tired mind.
But self-control is not what he had a great deal of, let alone the control it would take do what was necessary, which meant, to do what he was told. To fit in. The sins of society is the concept of individuality bound by the construct of an authoritative framework.
It pulled at his heart and mind to struggle between what was right by him and what was right to be successfully integrated. It seemed these positions were not made to co-habitate, a catch-22. Why couldn't he just accept the common view and pretend there was no conflict, live blind?
Maybe it was him that could not see the reality of the situation. He often thought this of course, that it was he who lived in illusion, even though it felt very, very real. He wondered how much of the suffering was through his own ignorance, how much was necessary and if the truth he had come to seek was just another figment of his imagination, the ramblings of a broken mind.
He pushed the thoughts away as her image returned into his field of vision, she had raised his head and was inspecting his face thoroughly. What did she see in him he wondered. Why is she so important now?
He tried to focus on her eyes but they were now too close to see clearly, too close for the brain to make sense of what it was being fed. The perspective was wrong and all that was familiar had become blurry.
Forest from the trees, he thought as he recognised the pattern. He had seen it many times where one gets so close to the detail, the detail no longer makes contextual sense. In that space, nothing makes a lot of sense. The connections are lost, the relationships dissolved.
Why did he spend so much time in the irrelevant space, why think at all. It seems that so many others can get by on the most minimal of thought, a guided life instead of an examined one. Perhaps the pathways he had chosen, the ones that were a little more off the beaten track, a little more in the forest, were not the way to where he was needed.
Need. He rarely thought of his needs anymore. Everything was an action for someone else's needs,it always really had been. This is likely where he really went wrong in the beginning, ignoring his needs over that of others. It always left him scrambling to get over the fence he had just hoisted someone over. Rarely a hand came back down to help pull his weight, sometimes, the walls were just too high and he'd be left alone at the bottom, listening to life on the other side.
It had never really occurred to him how little time he spent on himself until it was too far gone, the tool box too empty to deal with the world he now found himself occupying. He occasionally thought what it would be like to go back in time. Sometimes he'd think what if he could go back into another generation completely, sometimes just to a significant turning point.
Often the turning points were centered in family, or the lack of family in childhood. Even now as adults the splintered beams of the home lay shattered and broken on life's cutting room floor.
Some of those experiences haunt him still, some of the things he has seen in his life. How could he not be affected by such drama, such horror. In some way, this comforted him. Perhaps it was not his fault he was this way, perhaps he was broken long before he had a chance to take control for himself.
It provided comfort. But it was not the truth. He knew that it was just another emotional justification, a crutch to lean on, an excuse for bad behavior. Yes, he knew that overcoming himself was his responsibility, even if what must be overcome was not planted by him.
He let it stay, take root and grow well past where it all should have. It is his garden to tend and his weeds to pull. The winds of experience may blow unwanted seeds over the soil but they need not be allowed to grow to bear fruit.
She moved again, placed her hands on her stomach and smiled. He watched her as she did this. How long until everything changes for her? Would it be in this moment?
END OF PART TWO
Taraz
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