de l'encre au bout des doigts

Every day, there are choices waiting to be made. Words unsung, things unseen. Every night, gosts walk John’s mind and threaten his blind oblivion of paths untaken.  

John used to walk at night, John used to think and wonder. What if he decided to fill the holes and stop the wind knocking down his home’s wall? What if he never turned back, what if home never existed?  

What if light truly was? It can’t be.

John has a very white skin, straight raven hair and grey eyes like a sombre day at sea. He was always tall and angular, with arms and legs he could never really seem to control. Often, John wonders, what he’d been named a Jack, would things have been different?

John used to walk and be scared. He was afraid of secrets coveted by his muted heart; he was terrified of his wants and needs which weren’t fulfilled, and soon within his soul, this expanding growth of devouring darkness. John was held back by responsibilities and choices he thought were his own; most of all, the child within him was persuaded that never would he be worth of anything but sadness and deceit. Why would he be loved, why would people believe in him? He never did. His walk went in circles and as many as his decision there may have been, no matter what variations were his own, nor how spent his soles were, John always arrived to where he came from.

What if angels walked the day? On the same path, but never at the same time? How to meet one then?

Back full circle, back to square one. Back to trying to forget hoping for things unknown.

Things can’t change, you know? What’s the point. If humanity was in a ship flying one earth to another, it would be the same stories, the shape of things to come would repeat itself: everything has happened before and will happen again, end of line, jump and start again.

Home resonated of unshead tears, of harsh words that they eventually stopped screaming at each other, after a while. Because, after a while, what was the use, why hope for anything other than what was?

Why walk ? Better yet to stand still. After all, John wasn’t alone. By his side, someone walked the same path of unhappy bitterness and resignation.

It’s just one drink. One glass to drows my thoughts and stop my dreams. Every day and for a while now, John has stopped walking at night. He’s stood still, waiting for his life to unravel. After he’d stopped walking, he’d started to watch his life. Eyes wide open and teeth clenched.

One drink used to be enough, then his evenings grew shorter, his life emptier but his glasses fuller. One night after another, a simple walk from the couch to his bed, his mind numb to nightmares that could be, to the difficulties of the every days he refused to face.

Things could have gone from bad to worse, from lies to deceit to a different kind of light.

Tonight, things are different. Tonight, like yesternight and perhaps tomorrow, John is watching cranes. Cranes are grounded, they can never go anywhere. They shape the things to come while remaining immune to the wind of change. Tonight, perhaps, John has met an angel. He doesn’t know, yet, what choices will be his own. “Choice” is a word again, life is exciting and hopeful. He may stand still for a while, or it would seem so because some steps are so small they may seem inexistent. But, he knows. But, for once, his eyes are closed towards the light growing within his soul.

This text was written listening to Cults’ Walking the Night and Daft Punk’s End of Line. After the lovely Crane pictures, you’ll find the Lyrics to the Cults’ song which inspiredthe character of John. :-)

When I walk at night I can’t help but I know its right

When I walk alone I’m hoping for things unknown

When I’m on my own I try to get as far from home

When I wanna be, there’s no bright light surrounding me

When I walk at night I can’t help but I know it’s right

When I walk alone I’m hoping for things unknown

When I clear your side, I’m searching for some surprise

When I’m by your side I can’t forget all our ties

When I’m on my own I try to get as far from home

When I wanna be, there’s no bright light surrounding me

You keep on tryin’ to make believe

That no one knows of your lies and your deceit

There’s no use in me tryin’ to be the things

I wanted and that’s right for me

There’s no point playing hard to get

I figured I’ll just sit on your swing

It’s easy singing everyday until I walk at night