Lawyer Levi

Spontaneous Prose and Cons

She had become that " Spontaneous Prose " , the hourless clock with not anxiety stricken digits on it but rang out in times so sudden and so charmingly that I had no choice but to run after it as Heaven and Earth hanged impatiently on the waiting list.

I transformed and my transformation subsided on her escape which only became true when there was a need, an unspoken mental anguish that needed to die down quickly or just a lost, lazy evening that was too muddy to in the want of being spend.

She did not have to put a label on it but I took it upon myself to understand where I stood, what part of her world I had the power to and the investigation to find my place was brief since it was the second bullet point of every " Self help and guide " book.

It was called the " Supportive Pillar " on the poorly written and slightly patronizing marriage counseling book that I acquired from Carson not long but on the start of this year when I still had someone to call as my wife, whom I shared my bed with, my name with and to whom my kisses found home.

But it was all in the past and all flashing before my eyes in my most vulnerable moments especially on Tuesdays and Friday's so Junith made a habit of walking along with me on those times without knowing why and not wanting to.

Multiple meetings were in place in the last two weeks and I felt comfortable in an alarming way as the sunlight strolled by, lamp posts were lit and the mornings were anew with young hope and juvenile longing.

The Book Culture near the edge of Manhattan had become the meeting place for a slow, lackadaisical Sunday and the mutual agreement formed as she was in place to buy some books for a vague group of people back home.

" I don't like Fiction. " I snorted a clumsy critique as I walked past the long, never ending row.

" Why's that? " She inquired with attention.

" It's . . . fiction. It's made up. It's not facts . . . or real. "

" Right. " She threw an invisible chuckle from the other side of the shelf and prodded humorously. " I forgot what you do for a living. "

" And why do you like them so much? "

" Because it's not real. It's imaginary. Therefore, it's powerful. "

Her answer left me wondering in an analyzing conversation with myself as to know about the state of her mind. But despite of her constant simpers and minor mindlessness to some of the things I say begged me to think otherwise.

The stroll finally ended near the heavy lit window and by that time she had elected some novels and brightly colored scrapbooks which were obliviously not for her own but fit for a teenager at best.

The woman at the bookstore past 42nd took Junith and I to be married and since she tried to hide her marriage counselling books in the midst of some gossip and fashion magazines, the woman behind the counter of the store understood the delicate state of her marriage as she said something pedestrian but meant it in a caring tone entirely without my knowledge.

I was awarded an unfriendly gander with a brusque disposition as I was playing the Surrogate husband.

There were young middle aged men, wearing empty, sad faces as they sat on the park benches with their solitude only accompanying their lonesome lives whilst their hearts were already bunked down in some imaginary blue thoughts. And then there were adolescent boys in dislocated groups who were too young and too materialistically full of the modern fizz of the world to be troubled by the prospect of the late years of our lives.

Their morbid lifeless faces equipped me with a historic recollection of my own state so I quickly fidgeted in an uncanny manner as I dipped myself blindly in her words to find comfort whilst trying claw and teeth not to fall victim to their contagious emotions.