The Abandonment of Man

Photo by Pharouk Damilola on

There is something eternal about the way his eyes looked at the room. I could hear worlds building and rupturing as the gears shifted with his gaze around the room. 

He was silent, taking in the perfection of the moment. Steady in his breathing, patient with himself. It almost looked like worship. Like God had descended in the room and he was in awe that for a mere second he could see. It must have been how the lame felt after walking when Jesus healed him. 

At this moment, he was made whole. The subtle heartbreak that had persisted to follow him all these began to unravel. Tears rolled down his face, slowly his shoulders slumped, feeling the weight of time stopping to pay homage to his being. 

He glowed with a certainty of a victor. Maybe this would be a moment he would carve in his heart. He would tell others, “ And at that moment, I lived, I loved, and regretted nothing.”

Looking back at the room as he left, a small smile caught the edge of his lip. He was present. Neither was he lost in his mind or wandering through the possibilities of the future. He could feel his soul taking in a deep breath, and realizing he will never be the person he wishes. 

A stray thought crosses his mind, then controls it. He tries to run from the demons that haunt him, he falls. Like a helpless soul, he struggles against the dying of the light. He longs for calm winds in his sails and a clear mind. 

His moment of clarity came with consequences he could not bear. The peace he sought would always be just out of his reach. This was his hell, to never love or stand still in a room of people. This was his cage, to sit in silence and still hear the screaming in his mind. A constant explosion of self. 

He looked up at the sky and cursed “Lord, is this is my price for being born of a sinner, then kill me after my work is done.” 

He weeps. And bears his heart to room with no audience. His own creation. His own cage.

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