Sunday, the 6th of May, 2012

Something's amiss.

I hear laughter and mirth

All around me.

And I smile back

In courtesy.

But I feel nothing.

It's as Eliot imagined:

"A patient etherized upon a table."

 

A few moments of ecstasy,

Plunging into an eternity of solitude.

Cold, numb and unforgiving:

Like the weather around me.

 

Edinburgh, Glasgow, Loch Lomond, Aberfoyle.

It's as if I am wandering:

On a quest without purpose.

Sleepwalking.

 

Happy faces, bodies in love

All surround me.

And I?

Sitting alone on the way back home.

Reading Chekov.

But does he have an answer?

 

Philosophers never do.

And so must I walk alone.

Forevermore?

Author's Note

Additional notes: Our bus got rammed into at Aberfoyle, cutting short our day trip. Lovely food at Aberfoyle, though. Best scampi and chips so far, and a manna of a chocolate cake. Completed Chekov's The Wife on the trip.