the lost man chronicles
book two: the art of love
A Message from the Moon
Thereís a crack in the ceiling.
Staring at it, I imagine escaping through it and onto life anew.
Ah, such is how my life continues.
I have no legitimate complaints. I have all I need. Indeed, much more than suffices. So, any peep out of me is merely a matter of a momentary loss of memory, letting avarice lead to me to forget all I have.
Yet, still, I have a problem, perhaps the same one many of us cosmolites haveóI am often bored.
Albeit, I am well-educated, endowed with great aspirations and the genius and talent to fulfill them; want for little including wit, looks and a wry smileómy wiles still fail to appease me all too often. This is when ennui gets the better of me and I either wallow for a shallow moment or write interminably to purge the poison from my soul.
The other usual means of exorcising this innocuous invader is continuing to seek The Elusive Other. That one who I pine to be just like me, who will inspire and never tire of inspiring, who will fire the cooling embers and keep me warm when winter comes; the one who we have all been conditioned to look for, even if we should realize that she can never truly be.
Oh, well, at least I have me.
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