Things Left Undone
Day #34 of Hilma af Klint and the Imaginary Possible
The pandemic brought strange, backhanded blessings Suddenly I was given the one thing that I had been chasing my entire adult life: Time.
Time to finally finish all the projects I’d left undone. I made a list of half finished stoires, novels, plays I’d started and shopped. I cleaned my room cleared out years of papers, sorted and bagged up old clothes. With my housemate Mary’s help, I rearranged the furniture in my small bedroom so that I could fit a bed, a small table and chair facing the window.
Instead of finishing my long list of things to do, I stared out the window. I watched a couple walk past, holding hands while fighting. Every morning an eager dog strained against his collar, pulling a gangly boy behind him, who stared at his phone.
One day I heard the sound of a woman crying. I peered out the window at a middle aged woman who had stopped to put one hand on a tree to brace herself, long jagged sobs shaking her frame. A man who was with her, rubbed her back, to offer comfort, but his touch only make her cry harder.
Hearing the woman crying, I felt my own grief.
One choice had lead to another. Somehow, I’d made one wrong turn and found myself lost, far away from the life I’d hoped to live, unable to recognize the person I’d become.
Nothing in my life had worked out as I had planned.
I arrived too late to realize my dreams. Even if I could start over, where would I even begin?
All I could do was stare out the window.
