Quotidian

Hello, how're things, bye. Hello, how're things, bye. Hello, how're things, bye.

Hello. CHECK
How're things. CHECK
Bye. CHECK

The mandatory pleasantries set in as things are forgiven but never forgotten. We feel it's almost as a contractual obligation due to all that was left behind. But it wasn't buried deep enough. We can still smell it but no word is spoken about it. Suck it in! It's always there, contaminating. Like the ruins of an old house that were never completely removed and the land on which it stands knows nothing more than what before was erected above it. We're sat awkwardly on the leftovers of yesterdays. As two stubborn donkeys consumed by guilt, feeling we owe it to one another.

There are no foundations anymore. It's all a wreckage. The ship crashed into the rocks finally after years of sailing in the dark. And now what to do?

I tell you it's all wasted. The few pieces of wood that still remain down by the rocks were all bent and shaped for that ship only. They're all impregnated by the waters that we sailed together and that's why we can't even watch them burn.

All that's left is walking away from the wreck.