No conversation today.
Too busy, I suppose—all those things to do, to see, to know, to experience, to understand.
Of course; much too busy.
What it must be like at the end of time?
And ignoring me is good for me anyway—sometimes.
I know that.
It’s a lesson isn’t it?
Sorry—that’s inviting a conversation, and you’ve all those things to do, to know, to experience, to understand.
It’s a lesson in getting on with life by myself—alone, miserable, floundering in the de-future that still curls around me like some revolting serpent, getting on in a life without expectation, going from day to day without being certain of a conversation.
Yes, a lesson, but a lesson unlearnt—and un-learnable, and unwanted.
Who wants to master getting on with life?
Sorry—there I go again; its so easy.
