3.00 a.m.
Approaching the bed, he reached for the covers, desperate to get between them and catch a much-needed sleep It hadn’t been a particularly long day, yet it seemed to have been full of memories and triggers. His mind kept racing back and forth, over all the years past, back to his high school days, when the charm of a new romance had first caught his imagination. He chucked to himself as these very words streamed through his head – “Hah! The charm of a new romance!”
The curtains were already draped closed, but a slight parting caught his eye. “Sometimes”, he told himself “you see too much. And that’s why you’re awake at 3 in the morning!” The mist on the darking window looked too appealing to let slip away to sleep. He parted the curtains a bit, and smiled as the lights from across the coastline blurred gracefully out of their crisp routine. “We should have such humidity more often here!”
He sat watching nothing, thinking nothing, for a little while, but then words started randomly filling his mind. He grabbed his notebook from the side table and turned to a fresh page. Momentarily hi paused to look at the page before that, and the only two lines written upon it:
“Dear Life, Frankly speaking, I’m disappointed – I expected more from you.”
“Ah, now is not the time!” And he began to write. Hardly had he written a line that his mind began to wander. “I wonder why people don’t use fountain pens anymore!” And again his mind started to wander, without consent, without regard. he went back to the time he had last used a fountain pen. And then his mind was filled with the tic-tic-tac of the cheap ball-point pens from the lecture halls at college. All of a sudden, the Mont Blanc between his fingers lost it’s charm, it it slipped without grace onto the last page on his notebook:
“Dear Life, Frankly speaking, I’m disappointed – I expected more from you.”
“Sometimes,” he told himself “you see too much. And sometimes, not quite enough!”
P.S. Yes, the thumbnail is my own picture.
