stirs of a letter
|Space was always a need. Not a want. He couldn't live with out it. A proper deflection of people, a place, or a thing so he could piece together where his footsteps led him. Before leaving Boston, he was himself. The ever evolving person that was working towards a personal place of existing while harboring another man's weight constantly measured his endurance in a mental space. It was heavy, weighed more than a ton. Only it was he that had to fully believe that he could do it and live as if he had a right to do so. A privilege to manage and one he had better do a good job of because the mess that spilled over for almost two years should have been enough to augment where the old him was molded into. Each day was a new agenda, a new strength to brick onto an identity that crossed between frayed and anchored. He lost the chance to go back if there ever had been one. Not for all he expected as the days moved on their own will and he had to chase behind. Catching up was his curse one he locked into not far too long ago but never had the confirmation needed. Whether it was between having all the information of extensions of himself through blood ties, relationships built within courses of business, or that of the one he considered his closest and most trusted confidant. |
The trip back home from where a structure had disappeared right from under him, had been a long drive. Where they met from memory he didn't gain but knew it was a rendevouz to look forward to. One that involved menacing tactics, conversation, a lot of drinking, and signs of love making. Either he was confused if it all transpired or not, a question to ask once it came up. Notes or anything of the like weren't left behind. The case of the usual system that was ingrained, left completely up in the air. He went about his morning, perhaps one that was foiled by the letter left behind. It was a chore to read under the haziness of getting acclimated with being downsized in ability and time. Where he was met by three cats wandering around acting as if he didn't exist, the usual task of refilling their bowls became the first thing he did. He couldn't sit down or go aim for the phone to call her.
He passed the landline for messages racked up from a week out of his mind. Mobile was his body and he felt the difference of not remaining in one place for one time. The loft, the townhouse, another property where he had directions written down that was a commercial space, and others in between, were places to get away from it all. To remain on the good foot while he had it, only consuming words of an immediate change, one that possibly had the power to alter a specific dynamic, finally put him behind the door where the shower was. Nathan stayed in the bathroom for more than an hour. Collecting his initial response, why at first from reading what was more of a confession, threw him for a loop. He disregarded the emotion of anger where understanding crept in, even with his truest self engaged on the idea of moving around stark raving mad.
It was the tiredness of being angered by what was out of is control. What had been the most out of hers after reaching the borderlands with both halves. It caused an already internal joust with himself as jealousy was sparked. A bit of sadness tucked just beneath it because he knew there was a moment where the possibility of he completely losing all of who he was, could be real and that setting them back. Just being unlikely friends at the time, he knew the place he was that fell so low to the point of trying to climb back at the top was obscured enough by the shadow of the other Wilson. Was it fair? Not exactly. Would he rebel against what built between them thus far, knowing he was dealing with someone else. Stranger in some form but an adversary or ally, depending on the time and universe from the legacy that coated his entire subconsciousness. A choking squeeze enough to render him incapacitated to function.
On exit, where the steam was left behind and towel gathered, the dirty clothes of the past day lost in the heat, he entered his space. The room that went untouched except for the scent of his second in command having to take residence there, especially on his favorite pillow. He frowned. The most emoting he ever shown since that morning to the moment of time, which he didn't realize where it was. The end of morning or the middle of the afternoon that careened into early evening. His sense of time's place was blocked out while he took to the words expressed from top to bottom. Wanting to read it again believing there was clarity and answers that were veiled by words. Simple meant complicated. Phrases strung together from the heart equated to pretenses as he crashed on his bed to give it time. Resorting to considering it was drivel over it not, he held mixed feelings. His way of going through the trouble of getting through like much of everything else was assessing, distributing options, and compartmentalizing until fit to actually handle with a new responsibility. Later, he thought. Putting it off until he relearned the feel of what it meant to be home.