Looking over the parapet, nothing to see yet but I know it’s going down soon. I’m a man of experience, sometimes it’s serious, I need to take shelter and stay cool.
The next one is coming on. It’s easier to think of what’s gone wrong, it’s easier to dwell on the past and on mistakes rather than think on my feet, move fast and get my head straight. I’m not ready for this, it’s my fight but I’m not right. What’s on the other side? A couple hundred bottles of red wine. The year that I will turn 29. A gnawing suspicion that my life is not quite mine.
It’s fine. I hold my head up high, if I fade I fade willingly. It’s my choice to drain the energy within me. I didn’t quite replace the cap, I lost my knack, and I got lazy when I lost track. It’s easy to accept it most of the time, except sometimes when I remember old rhymes, the lights and the music, the rhythm, the movement, the love for my comrades and the drive that got us through it. I remember being younger, I remember one or two hours’ sleep and still waking up stronger.
But right now I just look over the parapet – it hasn’t started raining just yet but I know without shelter I will get wet. And once I hide inside, from the pouring rain, I don’t think I’ll find the strength to head outside again.