Solitude is comforting like an old friend, more than an old friend, it protects us, isolates us from discord and chaos.
Entering his apartment darnkes welcomed him. Occasionally disrupted by remote lighting, followed by the gentle rumbling of a storm.
As he stepped in, the familiar smell of silence. Covering momentarily his ears and closing his eyes, he travelled to a distant universe, across galaxies, nebulae and cosmic dust. Eons of incommensurable distances traveled beyond time and light, before the early universal sounds of creation and being.
He finally arrived home. Alone. An empty space to inhabit and cherish him. His Own to make and dis-make. Getting to his desk he sat and thought, for the first time in ages, about the sound of his own ideas, of his own flesh and blood, pumping through miles of veins and soft tissues.
Mozart's Requiem. The CD tray closing, the choir chasing unheard godly harmonies.
Lighting and storm. The pearled windows "screziate dalla foga femminile della tempesta".
Maybe it was time to think about his mother. The storm in so many respects reminded him of her. The bouts of darkens followed by a renewed sense of purpose and life. A sudden burst of rain, hitting violently the windows with gentle watery dots, unharmful. Life given with thrusts of temperamental rectitude.
He noticed the clock and wondered why he wasn't home yet. What could have delayed him, options kept him from surrendering to his own anxieties.
Lately life seemed without purpose. A machine spinning in distant regions, requiring an allegro motive of hassle, orchestrated by a drunken blind man.
Feeling distant and remote he lay in bed. His eyes closed he perceived the room, the emptiness around him, his own being expanding over the boundaries of his own body. An extra corporeal experience where dimensions mattered little. A boundless spirit soaring over the atomic structure of watery molecules.
Why was his ego shrinking? The previous night's argument forced him to retreat within, leaving him to pick up the pieces of the torn pages scattered across the room like insects crawling for the closed security of corners and crevices.
Night and so soothing a hue.
newly crestfallen dew.
incredulous ending.
