Although Spring is finally here, the cool winds of Winter still burn my nose and chap my lips. The walk to work is somewhat painful yet I continue to do it every day because I know of nothing else. The time for daydreaming and thinking outside of the box has passed me by like a cup full of ambrosia. I wanted to take a sip but I was too scared to do so. Once upon a time, I used to be carefree and colourful, wandering in places that others would have deemed to be too dangerous. I, however, feared no one and no thing and because of that simple fact, I was unharmed. Even when danger stared at me in the face and its warm and fetid breath caused my eyebrows to wilt and turn grey then white, I held my own and refused to back away. Now, I am quite the opposite and I still don’t know what happened. How did I lose the way? What drove me from the path that was so carefully laid out for me before my birth? My back is hunched over now and my eyes are constantly downcast: my new posture towards the dregs of Life. I thrive in fear and anxiety because it comforts me like a sickly wet nurse whose nipples only offer rancid milk. I no longer know the names of colours because I shut that part of my mind down when the change occurred. I have no one to blame but myself. My eyes still flash a glimmer of anger in response to what I have become. This is not how I used to be, I thought, then drearily returned to my menial tasks for the day. This is all I have now, I said to myself repeatedly as a mantra for an opium soaked deity that wasted away to a mere slice of belief. This is all I have now.
(Dreaming of a Former Life: Elmwood Cemetery. Photo by Kimberly B. Richardson. Copyright 2015)