mathematics for a broken soul

And as the soft sound of Diana Krall’s voice resonated through the dimly lit office, his anxiety began to surge and fall surge and fall, following an undpredictable sine curve of emotion. She said goodbye time and time again and yet this time it seemed as if it was real, proper, and timed perfectly to coincide with something or nothing, in either case, tangible, able to be harnessed and held close in realization that the end was ok, that allowing someone to finally fall gracefully out of the scope of his life was healthy, that he could turn obsession into compassion for her having moved on. And yet the days and minutes that ticked by were still filled with masochistic behavior, with wallowing, with missed deadlines and lost opportunities, with an affection for depression, with an attachment to medicine as the only beacon of light out of the present, not realizing that a shortcut lay slightly ahead and to the left of comfortable. The signs were mislabeled, west was in fact the way he needed to veer, east was the way he’d always traveled, east of eden, east of normal, east of love and east of the way……west….west…west.

Tu me manquerais toujours mademoiselle…..je vous aimerais toujours!

And as he longed inside for the day that serendipity would allow their paths to cross at a time far from now, the realization that he was writing a path which he should actually follow registered for an instant before impending deadlines born of the chase for the corporate dream grabbed hold of his perpetually distracted attention…….one day I’ll be free to play and explore to learn and write and no longer hope for more, four more years, no more tears” he thought to himself, “who knows what the future may bring.”