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He was a good person. He knew when winter would come,
the trees would shake their lives and and brace for a long
hybernation. He knew the winter would end, and spring
would come, and people would walk into his life and
suddenly out. He knew there would be enough money, and
love, and will, and that perhaps there would'nt be. Perhaps
it would just all run out, like gas or electricity or
He knew he was supposed to hope, and believe in
something, so that each day he would get up. But, he could
find nothing to believe in that brought any hope. Moments,
when true shimmers of excitement sparkled about him, rarely
happened anymore, more often, giving way to reality, a
darker confirmation of truth. Inescapable.
He knew he was not extremely smart, or even gifted in
any particular way, if so, it would have been noticed
earlier. He sleeps alone each night and gets up the same
way, having coffee alone at the start of each day.
He is aware of repetition and how it replicates and
grows, choking out life. He is aware that this does not
happen to everyone. He is aware that most people are not
aware, and he is wary of what he is aware of. He knows
dreams can come true, because he has lived them. He knows
fears can come true, too. He knows the cracks are as wide
as the the steps between them.
He is worried about what will happen to the only one
who cares if he comes home or not, his dog.