For the Nth Time

For the Nth Time

We stole wifi yesterday. We stole free wifi. A search guilded from an attempt to be known, classified into two distinct options: With or Without Work. To condense the self into a few neatly aligned pixels, organized by skill and opportunity, arranged where the light shines brightest. The only thing to be trusted is the word of a self-proclaimed liar.

She cries aloud, “Why didn’t we … ?” He chuckles aloud, “It was time to grow up, live a different type of life, to go after the life we want.” 

We made a board yesterday. We made a black board. A plan divided up into four distinct sections of import: To Do, Urgent, Critical, and Dunzo. Time stretches; the shit builds. Time contracts; the shit releases. All is shit. In the end, here is where we’ll always be, together, entranced, wondering, What will become … ?, What could have … ?, What if … ?, with the blanks filled in with the idiosyncratic idiocy of imagining that something could ever be known.

He breathes deep breaths, “Is it possible that … ?” She takes a breath, “Sure, it’s possible but unlikely.”

We asked ourselves a question yesterday. We asked ourselves an impossible question. A wanton desire to be free, freed from the halving of us from ourselves, obtainable through three plausible routes: Go Back, Stay Put, Move Forward. Doing nothing never materializes as a choice, and traveling backwards in time, they (not them, of course) say, is impossible.

They shout aloud to each other, “The days can be counted!” And count they must, they decide.