Have you ever felt that you are waiting forever to have that conversation which will transform your life in a single verbal swoop? I am sitting here in a cloud of indifference, listening to some dark, trippy music, on the shores of listlessness, impatiently waiting for the world to get up and go so that I can walk away from it in the opposite direction. I need low lights and walls that faintly glow yellow in them, swirls of cigarette smoke, a dazed look and freewheeling conversations with unexpected turns that leave you in a haze the following day.
I could now turn an approver to life's mediocre purpose, or hang, in disagreement, like a captive don. Instead, I will just sit and listen to your charges. I won't put up a defence. I will just watch the way you talk, the way your mouth shape the words you speak, the way your eyes list the unspoken charges from behind the weave of your silky black hair, the way your hands move to accentuate the gravity of my crime. I shall serve my sentence in the cold loneliness and wonder if I will ever remember what you said or what you looked like.