There is nothing in Kalamazoo for me anymore. I was in love with Leah and I probably still am, but she vanished. Like pictures of the ‘good old days’ have faded an blurred and I keep attempting to remember the faces of my beloved friends. Aaron went to Colorado. He’s practically my brother and he’ across the country. I keep staying here and I have for years just to befriend the ghosts that haunt me. By doing this I feed it. I keep working myself to death and I’m not saving any money. And I can see myself in the future. If I don’t get out now I’ll be stuck here. Still working my two dead end jobs. Still not saving money. No social life whatsoever. And my depression with further along than I have ever imagined. And I’ll keep telling myself that I’m content with the word around me. And I’ll keep lying to myself. If I stay here I won’t do anything with anyone and won’t get anywhere. I must abandon this place. I once saw a life for myself but that life is long gone. “Keep going further Steven and bury your past behind you.”
For some reason I can’t stop thinking of how today will one day be a memory, like people look back on old photographs faded from years of use and contemplation. How a woman’s elderly and wrinkled face was once so young and beautiful. How the perfect embodiment of a stranger could grow to become so contorted. How people’s spines crook over. And what was the cause of the limp in the single mother’s gait? I saw her today walking her children down the sidewalk probably to some exhilarating fantasy land full of mystery and wonder and a love like I had never felt. And how people become trapped in one place for too long and their ambitions begin to melt away, and the furthest into the future they can think of is next months rent.
Sometimes I think of better things like how the sun rises in its magnificent form thus beginning a clean slate for anyone lucky enough to witness it, but on these nights full of coffee, cigarettes and literature, my mind wanders. And I can’t help but to think of how to not end up like all the miserable faces before me. Is it inevitable? Will I grow to be cold and worrisome? Will I not be free like I so desire to be? Maybe everyone I meet everyday wanted the same thing I want now; how can I be the one successor? How can I overcome this agonizing form of life if no one before me was able to?
I will find meaning to this shallow existence. I will see the beauty of the earth before my eyes fade. Even if I slowly turn into a cold and angry and tired person, I want to feel the sense of youth and freedom before that happens.
His gaze was fixed at the bottom of this thing he wanted to call a “Kalamazoo” though he couldn’t see it. Darkness just fell and hovered there, the kind of darkness that feels infinite, like blank space. He shouted down to the bottom hoping to hear something other than his echo reflecting back up at him. All he got in response was the understanding of nothingness.
He was at the top desperately screaming down to the bottom for a different outcome but eventually gave in. There was nothing. Nothing. Not a drop of water at the bottom of this “Kalamazoo.”
He moved on. There was no point in returning.