Seated at a work desk that I know will wither to dust in a few months, the actual precedence of the moment has taken on a strange form. Somehow knowing that this moment will one day be over makes me feel sad, like a dying friend is parting from my sight, and no amount of phone calls, text messages and post-it notes will ever bring it back. If I allow myself to be opened like a tin of sardines or a discarded fruit, perhaps I can learn to be open to my thoughts rather than having a fixation on my external presence. This body will turn to ashes, my brain will wither into nothingness and maybe this personal account of my yearnings will cease to exist, I hope it does not, I want to exist, I do exist.
One day, life will take me to another place where I will again be forced to start from scratch, building up new relationships, creating new thoughts, sequencing new memories, falling into environments where I will make new friends. When I sit down on a chair like a discarded leaf, frail and bony, a lifetime collection of memories in my cranium exaggerating their own experiences. Maybe Chopin’s Piano pieces make me feel like a child because they bring me closer to a time when I did not exist, and perhaps this is the ultimate blessing, to be killed and allowed to end this infernal game. The past is something that everyone knows existed and yet no-one can grab and hold for a second, it is given to everyone and yet no-one can ever have it to hold. I guess it’s like a riddle, and if you have no time then what is the point of everything else in life? You could be the wealthiest man on the face of the earth, but if you have no time (and it is relative to everyone) then your life will be over before it even starts.