In Kenosha I fell in love with the sunrise. The lighter found my cigarette and the sugar free redbull was right beside me in the cupholder. The turf grass lawn was not freshy mowed and held a picnic table. Shadows engulfing the grass began to dissolve through the sand toward the water’s edge. Tangerine danced between the clouds and between the strangers parked alongside me. Seagulls darted along the horizon. I’ve always loved the idea of a horizon. Or maybe the future. I think I can get caught up in a feeling of stagnation sometimes.
The alarm sounds at 5:30 every morning and my eyes open to closed blinds letting the sunrise whisper from just beyond. The sugar free red bull in my fridge is crisp and too loud in the morning. By the time I reach the courtyard for a morning cigarette, the lighter is an unremarkable source of light. Some days, some weeks sometimes we are unremarkable. The clock turns to 7:30 and another day begins again. The horizon is cunning and elusive. Ubiquitous, without needing encouragement. Or maybe I just hold some level of cognitive dissonance.
I want to live just beyond the horizon. It’s easier to daydream about the edge of myself rather than to engage with the idea of love. I am not an honest man. And maybe honest isn’t the right word. I think stagnation is the invitation of fear into one’s life. If I were truly an honest man I would’ve quit smoking years ago. I think too much and therein lies the problem. Because I know just about as much as you about what the future holds. I’ve been trying to let it be tomorrow’s problem.