Breaking the Spell

Sunday morning. The city is asleep. I stare out the window off to the east, drink coffee, smoke cigarettes, drift, and dream. I don’t try to write any of it down. I don’t want to spoil it.

I truly wonder what the meaning of life is. I used to think that was a meaningless question. Now, I see it is just another difficult question, nearly impossible to answer.

The better question with no easy answer is what I shall do on Monday. What shall I be and do beyond just trying to get along one more day?

The sky lightens. I feel a chill. The moment is gone, for I have broken the spell by writing about it.