cultivated isolationism

i left the house the other day in a mood. in a zone.

i put my sunglasses on even before i stepped out of the front door. wanting that extra bit of isolationism offered by the dark lenses that might keep my expression hidden.

i wanted to cultivate my own bit of separation, drag out my sense of being alone. to masochistically enjoy my depression and protect its fragility. from people. from light. from my own emotional flagellations.

in the car i put on my favorite depressive music, guaranteed to further draw out any feelings of sadness that threatened to dissipate or, at the very least, lessen in severity.

there, caught up in an environment of my own creation, i set out on a drive.

egotistically absorbed in my own self, i looked up to see two birds flying high above the highway. two birds flying in perfect synchronization. for one second. maybe two. then their beats became once again unique but for an instant i was witness to perfection in coincidence. to something meaningless acquiring a meaning beyond the simple happenstance, the accidental beauty of the event.

i removed my sunglasses only to realize that the day was completely overcast. gray and sunless.

watching the birds (no longer representations of something larger. now only birds), i put my sunglasses back on.

indecisively removing them once again, i squinted at the sky but then gave up and wore the unnecessary glasses.

it was only later when i noticed that the passing cars had their headlights on that i decided to finally put them away.

even so, in the protective darkness of nighttime i kept looking to the sky.