losing sight of our goals

he will be watching a movie when he realises that he has lost peripheral vision in his right eye. he only sees one of the characters at a time- he can't see who robert redford is talking to. he blinks. he rubs his eye. he blinks a few more times, hard. he won't say anything because he isn't one to say things. instead, he just walks home after saying goodbye to his friends and quietly goes to sleep, because things are always better in the morning.

the morning is not better this time. he wakes up, looks at the clock; seeing only its ticking. the only colors in the darkness at first are from the throbbing headache; the same headache that woke him up in the first place. flashes explode in the night when the bedsprings creak. every slamming car door of his neighbors leaving for work thuds pink, echoing in his skull. 

Once everyone has left for work there is blessed quiet again. in the darkness, he looks at things that he normally ignores, now that headache is beginning to subside. he stares at the dull white of quiet for a bit, but when he opens his eyes again, he looks at the smells. the sounds. the taste of the dark. he can see the faint odors of living that are washed out with even the slightest light, and he can finally see the slight creaking of the floor and the walls unmasked of colour and movement. the stillness is really quite beautiful, he thinks, quite dynamic. a fragile beauty though. susceptible to destruction for great distance.

after some hours of watching the violent fire of the lawnmower, there will be darkness again, and he will drift to sleep watching the subtle interplay of gravity and the breeze.

he'll wake up the next morning to sunlight filling the room. at the office, they'll ask him where he was; why he wasn't at work yesterday.

no reason, really, he'll say, just happy to see their faces.

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