From Limbo to London

(April - Revolutionary Road - Thomas Newman)

For those of you who do not know; Limbo is a temporary state on the edge of hell for those in sin until redemption is made possible. London is the seat of government of the United Kingdom. I am presently dangling in Limbo, as I have already exited most layers of Hell. For those of you who know, or can read, I inherited that status from the past months, mostly from the days you can read below. I was in a state where being single was not what I wanted, and I had said goodbye to that. And quite frankly, I still feel this is the case. The only difference now, is that I actually am single and that I am unable to love the way I did. 

And I am unable to figure out why. I do not know if it is fear, because I know how that feels, and this is different. I do not know if it is the lack of will, because I know what the urge feels like. All I know is that I am stuck. And I don't want to reach out yet for hands reaching in to get me out. Because I'll be damned if I pull them down. The thing is I don't love my ex any more, and I wonder if I will ever really forgive her for how she handled the purging of what was once 'we'. But why does just the very state of being single, being alone, not feel like being alone, but instead feel like cheating. Cheating not to anyone, at best myself, but like I cheat, to the world and its people.  

By being angry at the world I have decided to just be better. But the longer I am, the more I realise the world doesn't care. People don't give a damn, take out the easy way so god damn often. Hiding behind screens, hiding behind all forms of social constructs, hiding behind the curtains of what veil of lies they like to uncover to the world as truth. And I am not even angry any more. I am just standing there, looking how the wind is waving their see-through curtains around. 

I am about to cross the canal, inverse Normandy and storm the beaches of the Thames. But I am not. I don't want to bight the hand that still reaches. Not until I know that those hands can handle my weight. And for that I have to wait, just like Caesar and his great army. You didn't know? Caesar had to wait for several weeks before his army got favourable wind to travel to London. 

Wind, the same stuff blowing away veils, the same stuff that I visit in the north. The same thing that probably facilitated my conception in the first place. That fresh wind is still blowing, who knows, it might point me into another direction. But slowly, that is what happens when a calm wind lands an immovable object. You get some of the most spectacular sights on the world.