If I go it will be trouble, if I stay it will be double. The light has changed, the shadows have moved, and I don’t know where it will end. Don’t worry about things you can’t change, worry about things you can. I can fix Penumbra [Penumbra was the Fringe show I was working on with two other friends, the debut performance for The Red Button. I’m not really happy with how it ended up, although I still feel like it had the potential to be an amazing show].
He wants her. She wants space. Space wants to be filled. Nature abhors a vacuum. He likes vacuums, although he’s never seen one. She doesn’t have an opinion about them, has other things on her mind. He keeps trying to remember the way it was before. She is just trying to work stuff out. The cracks are forming, that old familiar feeling, sinking. He remembers that they were so happy, but can’t remember why. Drunk on love? Perhaps. He wishes he could be more dramatic and fiery about the whole thing, instead of just withering, crumbling, sloshing. She is just trying to work it out. She doesn’t mean to be so distant, she’s just trying to keep it all together. He feels pressure in his tear ducts. The tears don’t come. Is it worth prolonging the inevitable, he wonders. He tries to think about it mathematically. How much time has been happy in this relationship, and what was the intensity of this happiness? How much time has been sad, and how deep was the sadness. Fear, sense of loss, confusion are some of the emotions that fall into “Sad Times”. The positive ones, of course, fall into “Happy Times”. How have the happy times and sad times been distributed? What about learning, growth? How much has the relationship helped him to grow and learn new lessons? There were many other variables to consider, and it would always be an extremely flawed model, but it showed him what he already knew.
That it was getting worse.
Back to Bom. What strange days these have been. I’ve played mandolin with a band, performed a spoken word cover of Billy Jean, scrumped sugar cane from the side of a highway. I’ve been trying to work out if things aren’t working between me and [let’s call her X], or if it’s just that I’m going through a lot in my head. Probably both, probably neither. Now I’m at Ballina airport, awaiting the plane that will fly me back to old Brunswick town.
As the lark flies, so will I.
Stark eyes, ocean sky.
Earth, air, fire, water, hope, glass, smiles, radio, fear, metal, magic. Love.
“There’s something not right about that place. And you know what I noticed? Sometimes people go out who never came in.” [overheard conversation between two people who were to become, much later, friends of mine]
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