The Condo
He began his morning the same way each day. Repeated the same actions, and thought and dreamt of the same things. He was regimented in his daily life, finding value in his ability to remove himself from the chaos. His eyes drifted towards the window; observing the chaos unfolding beyond. He sipped his coffee, ashed his cigarette, and went about his morning. The condo, once lavish in its own right; had given way as the decades slipped. Within, documenting the unchanging nature of its occupant. Dust collected on the mantle of the fireplace; walls once a soapy white had inhaled the smoke. The effects of the deadly habit displayed for all to see. He had grown comfortably blind to this though, choosing to remain ignorant. However, he was acutely aware of the circumstances he found himself in. The coughing, and the red spatter of blood forced the awareness upon him. He allowed additional time to rest on the sink, collecting himself, and smiling into his reflection on the porcelain basin.
“Goodness”
The condo was quiet on this humid summer Sunday; much to his own approval. He found solace in this silence, where others would often find insanity. The tranquil ticking of the clock mirrored the beats of his own heart. In this moment, he felt comforted in a way he hadn’t in so long. The steady ticking, and the hypnotic movements of the hands drew him, and lulled his ever restless mind into a daydream. In his older age, he often gave way to these times, and allowed himself a break. He guilted himself, thinking of the many things he could accomplish with the time. He instead drifted further, and further from the chair. He would often take trips to memories locked deep within. Memories, which for years had been suppressed, and condensed within. Memories which held something the others did not. Memories which captured his true feelings, who he really was beneath it all. Memories that froze his regrets, his passions, his reasons, his everything. These were all he would afford himself throughout the years. Not the ability to take the selfish actions he knew he longed for deep down; never that. He felt his purpose was much greater than some selfish whim. He abstained from these luxuries to achieve his dreams.
To provide.
To be the person when no one else wanted to be.
to be what someone needed him to be.
It was these things that he held most dear. These principles which guided his life; his own religion. They gave him the sense of purpose he so desired; they gave him the ability to shape the world as well. His mark could be left on the history unfolding before him, if only temporarily. He was not the type of person to long for monuments to his triumphs, nor to have stories shared about him around a table of strangers. He simply wanted to live on within the memories of those he was able to touch. He only wanted to be appreciated.