The sun sets as the luminescence of the distant stars begin to populate the sky. The moon, I’m sure, has been proudly out since dinner but I pay it no attention.
I feel heavy, weighty, a constant sadness that I can’t shake. The dew from the grass in the yard has gently moistened my Clarks as I step onto the little 2 lane road. It feels like tears on my toes and I find solace.
I stroll slowly, past the little homes built almost a lifetime ago. Television sets flicker through thinly veiled windows into the darkening night. In one I peep a second-floor lamp glowing as if it was a sentry standing guard. On the lookout for uncomplacent spirits and warding us away with a suburban snarl.
I reach the golf course, and the heaviness surprises, as it shifts its center of gravity from my shoulders to my chest. I hate golf and everything associated with it, and I usually give the little bird to everyone in every golf course I come across, of which there are too many in this suburban hell scape. But tonight I skipped that part and moved right into thinking about existence, equality, brevity, and irreversibility.
Like an intellectual savior the old stone church came into view, lit up in its exhibitionistic glory. Beyond it, hidden in a pathetic shade tombstones scatter around a little paved loop. The dates and styles are a mix of old and much older. I began to let my mind wander, crafting stories for those lying beneath their limestone headboards. I even began to ask if they had any inclination on how numbered their days were, and rejected considering the question more intimately.
But a doe threw me a snort and a hoof stomp. She was close and voiced her obvious disdain towards my presence interrupting her dinner. I wondered "is she aware of who she is walking on?" Then I asked her “Do you have a favorite one? Do you know if a corpse that lived a happy life produces tastier grass?”
It’s too dark to read the names and the dates and that is more than okay. I’m too tired to think about anyone else’s existence other than my own at the moment. The deer moved on and I found myself wrapped in a thick calm. So I decided to lay with my new friends.
Sometimes, when I'm lonely or scared I find it comforting to be close to dead. Their eternal sleep seems to be the only remedy that can still my mind. A kernel of a question grows until I can think of nothing else, so I ask "Why do we exist? And how do we measure a life's worth?” embarrassed a little, and relieved to have it out in space. I slowed my breathing and anchored my body to the ground as I waited for their response.
After some moments had passed I grew uneasy with their stone faced silence "That's what I thought. Well thanks for a little bit of your time." I exhale today's stale anxiety, then rise and say “I need to go for a walk, maybe we can talk again some other time.” And I made my way home to slip into bed and sleep off my existential crisis.
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