5alvani

Digital images cast a reflection in his glasses as he glided a computer mouse back and forth... back and forth... back and forth as he synchronized himself with the computer in front of him, engrossed in the perfectly arranged colors, fixing his eyes between two vectors, slowly mouthing a digital repertoire in which time slowed by morphine was represented paradoxically by quickly moving traffic and a static alarm clock.
Sullen and focused, he became his creation. He became the streams of light flooding a city highway. He became the static clock. Reciprocity; He flowed, circuitously with the machine, rewiring life... stopping time.
5:55
5:55
5:55
A time in (not at) which, several months later, we would be sitting in his Grey car, he mindlessly smoking cigarettes while creating a surreal life tempered by the speeds of amphetamines. His computer screen would reveal black and white pictures of us, his floor littered with convenience store receipts and mountains of shoes. In our occasional outings to places long gone, he went home with others, and I tried to give life to a dead romance. But we always found ourselves magnetically drawn back to that fifth story view, where I would gaze out the window... unfocused.
I woke up next to him, with a sense of alarm. There was an uneasy pitch to the wind. It was no longer static. The clock was moving quickly to the day that I dreaded the day I would leave. I swallowed blades of saliva, and left my heart in that room.
It was windy that day, but sunny... and I was shocked to find myself in such movement. The way the lost hunters moved through the airport quadrangles was offensive. The way the branches danced in my periphery was alarming. At a moment of relief, at repose due to my decision to stay, I think of him ... sitting in the same manner I found him for the first time tranquil and thoughtful.
The more I think of him the more I feel him near he walks by me, making a furtive gesture with his hands. I'm not supposed to recognize him. As he faded into the movement of things, I felt an existence being erased; the overwhelming feeling of change stopped the branches in their swing.
I knew I wouldn't see him again if I were to leave. But it wasnt only this that made me stay.
The dim lights of the train station seem like part of a reverie. The cool plastic of the concession stand. The sharp pitch of the phone ringing, a siren... His voice unaffected and monotone he described the way he felt:
Every drag of his cigarette, every drink of his whisky, makes him feel real. And with each penetration, a moment in our time together was erased. The inevitable happened.
It reignited time.
Its often hard for me to remember the way someone appears at first impression. Usually such an impression is washed away by the reality of that person. Their demeanor, the feelings they provoke. But I remember Him. I remember his focus. The way he trapped herself in vectors. Wiring himself into a box that would protect him. The quickly moving traffic. The endless repetition of time, and how it simultaneously seemed to go so quickly and drag on... it lapsed without ever occurring at all. Perhaps only severance can lead one back to remembering that first moment of encounter. Otherwise, things are still in motion, organically creating new moments to replace the feelings of unfamiliarity. I remember the shapes reflected in his glasses. The shield around him.
I always want to remember him. Even if time draws me back to the place I know so fair. Time again and again will always draw me back to those encounters where he and I existed in complete harmony, in an artificial love that only we understood. No one will ever under stand what it is that makes me love him, but I am ok with such. Everything will always go back to this status quo that I know.