'Old bureaucrat, my companion here present, no man ever opened an escape route for you, and you are not to blame. You built peace for yourself by blocking every chink of light, as termites do. You rolled yourself into your ball of bourgeois security, your routines, the stifling rituals of your provincial existence, you built a rampart against wind and tides and stars. You have no wish to ponder great questions, you had enough trouble suppressing awareness of your human condition. You do not dwell on a wandering planet, you ask yourself no unanswerable questions; Lower middle class Toulouse that's you. No one ever grasped you by the shoulder while there was still time. Now the clay that formed you has dried and hardened, and no man could now awaken in you the dormant musician, the poet, the astronomer who perhaps once dwelt in you. The squalls of rain no longer trouble me. The magic of my profession is revealing to me a world where within two hours I shall confront the dark dragons and the crests crowned with a mane of blue lightening; and then set free by the coming of night, I shall chart my course to the stars'
Antoine de Saint Exupery
On the prospect of getting back with ex boyfriends.
In the loamy undergrowth of what-if’s, I find us sitting sedately side by side, and I consider. I look into your face, see the thickening effect of years gone by, the lean edge of youth a little softened. I’d like to say that we’ve barely changed, you’re young and beautiful as you ever were. I’d like to say that we made the right decision every time we parted ways, every time we took a scalpel and made that definitive incision through our hypothetical lives together. I’d like to say that if anything, age has brought us wisdom and the value of hindsight.
Would they be lies? Could it be that we should have had the courage to see our future out together? Could it be that our perceived wisdom is only a hardening of foolish ways and a refusal to acknowledge our mistakes?
In the loam, in the sweet, wet earth where the unanswerable grows, we regard each other, as youths, then as adults. Parallel futures, pasts and presents stretching out like sunbursts from the nexus of our respective hearts and choices. I survived your love, your embrace, your desire, your subsequent forgetting of me and the finding of another love much greater and more present than my own. I survived your lingering looks that stopped time.
So here we are, left in a bar in a city far from where we started, staring through the crystal globes of red wine and whiskey, seeing the multiple futures of what could but will never be.