Dust flickers as the evening rays cast a long shadow across the corridor. And there he lies on the stale old bed, covered with feelings of anxiety and expectation. What he feels, is unknown to himself. As if he had lost himself in the transit, somewhere between the computing center and the apartment. Waiting, for his soul to arrive, he casts an empty gaze to the flyers on the wall. So many parties. If he was to look back and say what it was, that he was doing all of these years, it might have been the only thing that he could remember. Hanging on the wall, as little marks of the days that have passed, these flyers reassemble much more that just memory. Colorful artwork with gloomy DJ names, screaming to say that it was the night that you’ll never forget. Yet, after the party, there was dawn, and yet another day you would sleepover. And again. Was this everything that he was doing ? Is this reminiscence of stroboscope lights the only thing he carries with him ? No. He remembers more.
Though, it is odd that all of his memories have strong sound with it. Remembering the nights strolling the boulevard, he could still hear the dance rhythms. He could still feel that sawtooth bass beneath him. But, somehow, he cannot recall what he was doing. Walking, dancing, but what else ? No, that was not it. There had to be more. And there it was, in the smell of the dust. In the shivers that smelly blanked gave him. In his fear from the kitchen mouse. Lost, in paranoia, trying to learn his first bits of code, while the disease-carrying mouse was freely walking over the kitchenware. It is only in the decaying walls that he found true meaning – true substance of what he was to become. Anger and pain for the hardware, he hoped so long for – now broken. His hopes drowning in the bathroom moisture as he tries to lock the door. But the lock is broken. And so is he.
Angry of himself, with nothing to gain, yet nothing to loose, he dwells in this half-world, where his hopes intersect with reality. Where his dreams comes to an end, and he can no longer pretend that he is not the one he wanted to be. That these computers scattered on the floor won’t help him hide the inner fears. As scattered fragments of rusty video, decayed and broken, and his dreams of waterpipes and metal rust, switching in the blink of an eye, he is now also lost. Waiting for his soul to arrive, yearning for the years that have passed, he cannot hide the smile at the corner of his mouth. He cannot say that if he is to get back, that he wouldn’t do it again. Spirit crushed, he still cannot say that it’s not what he wanted. Rainy days and leaking windows, feel like drops of hope, hope for the new beginning. And all the dust that is behind us, is the seed, the seed for the ways we should be.
A.
