He strolled through the garden, his mind lost somewhere ahead with the ornamental maple. One question crawled around like an ant on the bark of the tree, why? Or rather an infinite number of questions revolved carried past his mind by the ant of why. Why had she left, why had he said those horrible things, why had they even met?
It was all so purposeless like his aimless stroll through this garden, not even seeing the lush scarlet geraniums. His heartbreak served no spiritual end. It served no evolutionary goal. Unless, that is, his misery was the purpose of the system. Was the whole show of life a tragedy and he the tragic hero? How could the tragic hero be an inconsequential fool like him, strutting to and fro across the stage between pratfalls?
Perhaps he was the comic relief from anothers heroic tragedy? He was the bit player someone else was the star. In a flash he understood. She was the star. When she finds the love of her life he was her loser ex-boyfriend to be remembered in flashback, briefly.
It was all so purposeless like his aimless stroll through this garden, not even seeing the lush scarlet geraniums. His heartbreak served no spiritual end. It served no evolutionary goal. Unless, that is, his misery was the purpose of the system. Was the whole show of life a tragedy and he the tragic hero? How could the tragic hero be an inconsequential fool like him, strutting to and fro across the stage between pratfalls?
Perhaps he was the comic relief from anothers heroic tragedy? He was the bit player someone else was the star. In a flash he understood. She was the star. When she finds the love of her life he was her loser ex-boyfriend to be remembered in flashback, briefly.
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tiamat:
how's van?
fjola:
Van?