Part Eleven.

Sometimes I sit and think, and I still miss her. It's sad when you miss something you never had in the first place.

I sit in this growing humidity. I feel beads of sweat gathering on my back and forehead.

What does it matter how many opportunities pass me by? There will always be another. Another event to attend, another person to court. A life of constant others.

Music swells in my ears, the violin strings gently being caressed by the bow, a sound of sadness in this case. As quickly as they had come, they were gone, replaced by strings of another sort.

Wanting what you can't have seems like such a falsehood. I see it portrayed in creative mediums, but who actually experiences it? More to the point, what would I do were I presented with it as a condition that I suffer from?

Maybe it would explain things.

More sounds enter my ears: water running through the pipes above me. That annoying, sporadic sound.

Usually I go with my feelings to solve a problem. I listen to my heart, but also something else that I can't explain. Something that I hear, but have no words for. I also see things in my head; images that appear random, but again, they speak to me. Right now, I see a whiteish square grid in front of a black background. The grid is made of a thread of some kind, like string . . . but it's tangled. One corner appears limp, falling in onto itself as a result of the loss of its structural integrity; more knots and snags are scattered around the mesh. I feel this is what's happening with my feelings right now.

I know there's something I have to do, but what? And will I be able to overcome my fear to do it?

Maybe some rest will help me untangle these knots.

Part Ten.

I walk along this familiar road, listening to familiar voices. The summer sun warms me to the point of discomfort, though it's not unbearable.

It's time to separate the good from the bad, I've reasoned. The trustworthy from the unworthy; the almighty from the powerless. Even if that means throwing myself in harms way every once in a while.

I approach the café & bookstore, somewhat unsure of what to do next. I decide to enter, and am plunged into a new world—small as it might be.

"Nothing worth having in life comes easy", a disgruntled doctor once told me. I used to take that as, "you have to suffer to get what you want," and that stopped me from taking chances. I now realize there's more than one way to play this game.

I scan the books, examining their presentation. Some are obviously old, their spines streaked with white, cracked lines. I arrive at the section I came for and begin searching for those special words; that distinctive visual. After triple checking, I continue across the shelves to a new section, my hands remaining empty.

I've noticed the pressure of the world more often lately. The periods off on my own are of a stark contrast to the rest of my time; indeed, even the rest of the world. Perhaps I give myself too much credit. Or perhaps others don't give themselves enough.

"No thanks, I'm just looking," I reply to the employee, a young man not much older than myself. Though he seems more relaxed than other employees at other establishments, I still feel he is trying too hard. But would I really be any different?

Perhaps I give myself too much credit.

I leave the café enriched. Not astronomically, and indeed, others will not even notice this small change unless it's compounded with more of the same. But it's there. What will happen with it is in my hands, though I don't like to admit it. I prefer to listen to my feelings and trust that they will guide me to where I need to go. Perhaps I give myself too much credit.

Or perhaps others don't give themselves enough.

Part Nine.

The trick is to enjoy the good times when they decide to show up. Take them out to a movie and make the experience last as long as you can.

I sit on a bench along this winding trail. Behind me, a playground. In front of me, a river populated by ducks. The sun is high in the sky.

I suppose I still don't believe it. I mean, when you've been around this particular block as many times as I have, you'd be a little more than sceptical too. There is a difference this time, though: I know I want this to last.

Many people walk by me as I sit. Many couples holding hands. Right now it doesn't bother me.

It's so weird feeling unbridled happiness. I've felt it often enough to become comfortable with it, and of course enjoy it. But when it stands alone, it doesn't mean as much as when it has a darker backdrop behind it. Where do you find the rainbow? Only after rain.

The children play in the playpark behind me. Their shrill cries of joy remind me of when I too was young enough to care about nothing more than the ratio of the amount of fun I could have verses the amount of time that was left. In this way, I have yet to grow up.

And I hope I never do.

Experimental Fiction / D.S. Variety

Horrific wonders of the world, sound off like you've got a pair!

The victory march around the neighbourhood lasts not even a block.

Now the chorus of defeat, you must make yourselves heard! We all know how hard you try to be noticed.

Regret injected with delight; a dessert that's come to be delicious. The kind you enjoy but wish you'd never experienced.

Satisfaction, sound off! Are you present today?

... No. It's gone AWOL.

The more you desire, the more you require to feed the new stomach. The more familiar an enemy becomes.

The more you desire, the more you require, like a snowball rolling down a hill. The more you need something, the more you're scared to live without it.

The more you desire, the more you require.

I am not a harsh teacher, nor am I a withdrawal of symptoms. I am simply an unfiltered eye. And an unfiltered eye lacks a bias toward the intricacies of my own shortcomings.

Part Eight.

The sun shines brightly as I walk out the door of my workplace. The street in front of me curves upward, obstructing the view onward. I take a right turn instead and proceed down an oppositely curved hill.

These days I find myself wandering down paths I've been before. Doing things I've done before. Feeling things I've felt before. Habits that I have a desire to break, but for one reason or another cannot — "I don't know any other way," I reason. "I need to do this." My avoidance has many identities, but I somehow manage to see through them all. I suppose when you spend enough time with something, you develop a deeper understanding of the internal components that keep it going.

I cross the parking lot, leave the sidewalk, and step onto the trail that leads home. The sun shines through the trees, illuminating the edges of the leaves.

So... should I be happy that I can see through my own lies now? Or should I be angry that I needed so much time to do so? That I needed to bear a burden just so I can understand what it's like to live without one? Even at this moment, I still cannot comprehend living without this pit I call a home. Perhaps one day soon I will.

I stop at the intersection, even though the lights are still green. I don't like to take chances and possibly make a fool out of myself. Irony if I've ever heard it.

I've caught brilliant white-light moments of happiness and would like that to continue... but maybe what makes it so great is knowing it won't last. After all, the grass can't grow without a little rain. On the other hand, too much will destroy it. So where is the happy medium? Where can I find the lush green that I so desire?

A long stretch of sidewalk, a left turn, and another intersection. The clouds have come to join the sun more closely, partially covering the sphere and forcing the light to push through the cotton.

Perhaps it's about compromise. Perhaps it's about letting things go and not caring. Perhaps it's about something I haven't discovered yet. Or perhaps I've been right all along and I just need to keep waiting.

Perhaps the lack of emotion is what makes it so emotional.

Part Seven.

"I'll learn to get by on the little victories." For some reason, it's harder to do than it sounds. And for some reason, that surprises me.

The rain pours from the sky, beating down on the window. I'm thankful that I'm sick today and need to stay inside.

I've done all I can for now. Everything is in the open. I just wish I had more to say.

A dark sky was an unsettling sight in the middle of the day—the grey clouds throwing drop after drop atop the surface—but I feel protected within these walls. In here, I can heal. I can stay for as long as I need so as to gather the last scraps of courage before I head out into the world.

I've been thinking about courage lately and how its affected me. It's strange to think that I can sink to such a dark place and still manage to climb out of it. Perhaps I'm more courageous than I thought ... or perhaps I simply lack the understanding needed to see how foolish I am. On the surface that sounds like a bad thing, but I don't believe it falls into that category this time.

I see a car slosh through a particularly large puddle. Water flies up onto the sidewalk.

Doing something different can be beneficial. It doesn't have to be done all the time, though—sometimes you can do something different by not doing something different. Of course, by doing that you would be doing something different, which would go against the desire to do nothing different. It's a conundrum.

A citizen enters my view. She is on the sidewalk. A large gust of wind tugs her umbrella backward and she awkwardly stumbles. Looking around to make sure nobody saw, she continued.

There is a message here, though. By doing something different, you can expand yourself into territory you had no idea you wanted to occupy, achievements you had no idea you could attain, and activities you had no idea you could enjoy. It's kind of amazing how blind we are unless we experience everything—and I mean everything—that life has to offer. The problems is that there aren't enough years available to us to see everything. You could rush through it all, of course, mindlessly checking things off your bucket list and never fully taking it in. But by doing that you're missing the point entirely.

I portion purple liquid onto a spoon and swallow it—then do it again. The taste is horrendous, so I eat a slice of bread afterwards. Outside, the sky brightens, but rain continues to beat the window like a drum.

I guess I'm going through with this because it's something different. Confidence is an item in short supply in my shop; occasionally shipped in from third parties, but never in stock very long. No matter the outcome, this will definitely alter how I view things from now on.

"And if the world decides to catch up with me, it's a little victory."

Part Six.

I find myself upheaving rock after rock, hoping to find something valuable underneath. Some long lost wisdom I once discarded. So far, nothing.

It's another day, which means another walk home from work. The sun is still bright and there are no clouds to stop the rays from touching the earth.

Is it wrong to want more? On the other hand, is it wrong to want less? In this case, sabotaging myself would be foolish. I asked myself what the point of fighting a losing battle was—and it turns out the answer was pretty obvious. You give it your all so you don't have to ask 'what if' later on.

If you go down, you go down swingin'.

Part Five.

For a time I began to wonder what I really wanted. Today I have my answer.

Yesterday: I walked along the trail, between trees and nature. My heart sank further as I attempted a recovery of the situation. A picking up of the pieces, if you will.

Today: The nervousness sets in, and perhaps that's a good thing. It kind of feels that way.

Yesterday: I didn't feel the cold as I walked. I could not bear to glance at a couple holding hands. The thought, simply, crushed me.

Today: I was going to come visit you but decided against it. A part of me says I made the right choice. Another argues that it would have been a caring and welcome gesture. For once, I agree with the first voice.

Yesterday: I sat outside at a table. The pond was shallow and for some reason that surprised me. I guess I thought of things as always being full. I left not too long after. I couldn't take the lack of attention, and given the opportunity to do it over, I would have done things differently.

Today: I am cautiously optimistic about the future now that the words I needed to say have finally been said.

Yesterday: I had reached the end of my rope... again. Looking over the park at the grass coming back to life and the children on swings, the path weaving through it all, I wondered how many times I needed to visit this place before I no longer needed it. How many times I needed to feel sad before I could truly be happy. With my vision blurred I aborted the direction I was walking toward.

Today: My biggest concern is a lack of interaction with her. All things considered, I could have been much worse.

Yesterday: I sat at home, wondering which piece I would try to fit together next.

Today: I sit at home, wondering what video game or graphic novel I would engross myself in next.

Yesterday: The end was nigh.

Today: The end is nigh. But sometimes that's a good thing.

Experimental Fiction / D.S. Variety.

Catering to the whims of the lazy and stubborn is not the fault of the lazy and stubborn. It is the fault of those who feel the need to reach out a guiding hand when none should be offered; not till we have lost the world do we begin to find ourselves, and so it should be forever more. The school of hard knocks and the enterprise of deficiency.

When the thoughts of the givers are lowered to satisfy the given, we all suffer.

Part Four.

I'm learning more and more that the problems that faced me in the past continue to meet me in the future. I'm learning that they're much more intertwined than I previously thought.

I walk home in the dark, the cool breeze comforting me.

Mark Twain said that age is an issue of mind over matter: if you don't mind, it doesn't matter. I agree wholeheartedly, but would like to extend it to any issue; for if the issue doesn't matter to you, you won't mind pushing through it. This includes relationships and new ventures along that same line.

Some kids in a car stop at a stop sign and shout things at me. I laugh quietly and continue walking.

Lately it's been all about her, and what I can do to strengthen this bond, if you can even call it that yet. I'm further along than I thought, I think, and that's something I didn't expect. Up until now we've had a harmless relationship; either of us could have cut it off and it wouldn't have mattered that much. Things are changing, though, and scary as it is, I must change too.

Hardly anyone is walking the street, but one man with a guitar passes me. I wonder of his ability, then think nothing more of it.

I understand the need to keep going. I do. What's throwing me off is my surprise about the situation.

The difference is that this time, I know I can make it through the other side in one piece.

Experimental Fiction / D.S. Variety.

Transcribed from droplet #1397237535

Brain hemorrhages. Involuntary homicide. The less fortunate need not be explained their fate, for they have already met it. A shame, truly. But the question remains: what force determines our fate? Is there a God, a being, a feeling, that moves us along a path? Or is it on our own shoulders, weak and unintelligent by comparison? Neither option is encouraging to me.

Whose cide are you on? Homicide, genocide, infanticide, uxoricide, parricide... the list continues. I find it difficult to concentrate on other tasks when so much dark can be contained in one's heart. When a lack of regard for another life trumps the positive actions we no doubt possess. Perhaps when one reaches the brink and falls, it is not always their fault, but the fault of others. That, though, still leaves the ones who choose to fall. The ones who feel there is no returning from the moonswept dark.

How do we save the ones who don't want saving?

Part Three.

Some days you wake up and you just don't see it coming. The level of commitment that your mind and body has to accomplishing a task. At times it's remarkable, at others it's frustrating. Today it's a potent mix of both.

I sit up in my bed and begin to stretch. The pain is somehow soothing.

This appears to be day 3 of the week, and I wonder if she's already found somebody else. Crazy, I know. I just feel like I'm up against the world, and if I don't lock in, someone else will. I try not to think about it too much, though.

The sun enters through my window and I'm reminded of just how tired I am. I rub the crust from my eyes.

Perhaps I don't give myself enough credit. I look around the world at other people and I see what, in my opinion, makes myself better. Is this narcissism? Maybe. But I like to believe there's a fine line between narcissism and confidence.

I like to believe there's still hope for me yet.

Part Two.

Another day, another dollar. That's what they say. This depression is like a hangover, and no amount of money in the world can cure it.

I still can't remember what she looks like. If I ran into her in the street, I'd be afraid I wouldn't recognize her and make myself look like a damn fool. But let's be honest: I'd remember her. Her smile would send me back to those moments quite easily were I lucky enough to see it again.

I sit in this doctor's office. Not sick of the body, but sick of the mind.

I heard she's been through a tough relationship recently. I was sorry to hear that. I really was. Am I wrong for preying on her like this? Glad that she's not in a relationship, glad that she might be vulnerable? I don't think I'm wrong. Nobody else seems to think they're wrong when they do it. Then again, if everybody jumped off a bridge . . .

Someone goes in to see the good ol' doc. I swear I was here before them.

All good things must come to an end, they say. I've even said it to myself as a way to move on. But I don't believe it. Maybe I just don't like the idea of letting it go, maybe I just don't understand it. I think it's just a phrase people say because they're too afraid to hold on. They don't think they can actually acquire eternal sunshine. But I do.

An assistant talks into the phone: “I'm calling on behalf of Dr. Norman's office.” The door opens, and more children walk in.

Am I foolhardy for thinking that? Am I actually more naive than I think? I don't feel so. But then again, the crazy don't know they're crazy. Perhaps if I listen to an old song once more, I'll uncover a nugget I hadn't found before.

There's nothing more to say. I'm being called in now. I just have to push through the children to get there.

Part One.

I stood at the corner of the boulevard and people passed constantly. Not walking, but in cars. Flying by. Seemingly only giving me a passing glance and a fleeting thought until they were gone.

“Oh,” I imagined them saying, “he looks weird.” Or, “Oh, he looks lonely.”

Maybe they're right about the first point. But I can tell you right now, they're definitely right about the latter point.

What's weird is that I can't even remember her face after too long. I just remember little things: her red bangs that drape the sides of her face. The way she laughed when she accidentally dropped a spoon in the garbage. Her yellow shirt that she occasionally wears.

The wind blows harder and I involuntarily sway with it, looking like a fool.

I never knew I could get to this point. This pinnacle of appreciation for myself. I know, I know, just be yourself and everything will be fine. How was I to know that this little piece of advice would actually be true?

I guess I just need to push through. Through the fear, through the hopelessness. I mean, I've been good lately. Really good. But this is usually about the point when I slip off the edge of the cliff, and bounce back down to the bottom.

One car stops at the stop sign. I can see two women inside, talking and carrying on. Then they leave.

Can I stop myself this time, though? Can I hang on just long enough to climb back up if I need to? It feels like it. Then again, I've felt it before and look where that's got me.

There was a point where I had just given up. Honestly. I'd stopped dreaming. "What happens when the heart just stops," he says, "stops caring for anyone? The hollow in your chest dries up, and you stop believing." Sappy as it sounds, that was me down to a T. I really felt like it was the end of something.

As someone walked by me I became aware of the shape of my face, and rearranged it to look less depressed. It didn't hold, though.

I don't know. Maybe it's all in my head. Actually, it is all in my head. Were I to stop thinking so much, I'd presumably be fine. But then I wouldn't be a hopeless romantic. In love with love, loving and being loved.

Someone in a car looked at me funny as they drove past.

Lately I've lacked a desire to do anything. The guitar. Writing. Playing a video game. Watching a movie. Going for a walk. All I want to do is talk with her. Know more about her. How did she come to be the person she is today? In what ways has her heart been bruised and her thoughts enriched? These are the details I want to know. These are the ways I want to be connected with another person.

I keep hearing songs about love. I watch movies about love. I think about love. It doesn't matter if it's good or bad love, sturdy or broken love, bright or dull love—I absorb it all. And I ask myself: how can I, as one person, find someone else? There's so much chance involved. Two people, in the same place at the same time, who just happen to have things in common, and both decide to go for a relationship? And both actually enjoy it? I'm sorry if it seems impossible to me. Past experiences have given me reason to be pessimistic.

Across the street a beautiful girl walks by. Against my own wishes, I give her a personality and fantasize about what it would be like if she was actually interested. If she took the time to learn my story.

Even if one enters into a relationship, there's no guarantee it'll last. In fact, it's almost a certainty that it'll fail. Nine out of ten relationships end because those two people weren't right for each other to begin with, and half of the ones that get married get divorced. Yet I continue to dream about finding someone and being with them for the rest of my days. That's not to say I'm naive: there would be problems, unforeseen consequences, and tiny slipups here and there. I know nothing worth having comes easy. But I feel it would be easier if I had someone to help bear the burden.

More wind. It's colder now, and the sun is getting better acquainted with the horizon.

I don't even know what I'm going on about anymore. I feel more full, more confident, now that I've sorted through things and organized them in my mind. Still not great. But better.

I guess I just need to push through.