I stroll, probably a bit too fast. It isn’t like I am running away, at least that’s what I tell myself. There are things behind me I would rather not remember. An inner turmoil that takes shape and follows me on these midnight strolls.
I am a difficult man, with so many mental concerns. I laugh at myself too much some say. I allow myself to love, friend and linger. I place myself at the butt of every joke. I debase and expect nothing from those I pull near. It is a habit formed by experience. I do it to myself and always regret.
So I stroll a bit too fast. I look over my shoulder a bit too much. I pay attention to nothing but the creature behind me and hope it doesn’t catch up. In my head, the broken and empty vessel for my brain, I believe I can escape the patterns and the turmoil. In truth I cannot, for it is a part of me. At some point one must stop and turn to face the dark.
He doesn’t listen to me. My voice is to quiet against the buzzing of the bees inside his head. There are many things wrong with me, I am just one of many and the others are way louder than me.