Who is he and why is he?
What do we have so far...
He has been living alone.
He is lonely.
He plays the "Loner" but he dislikes being alone.
His "Loner" persona is very practiced, he is accomplished in the arts of bachelorhood.
He is disgruntled at work.
He is lonesome at home.
He talks to himself, "I'm the only one that ever listened to me anyway."
He talks to his *pet*.
He dreams of a land not so far away that he visited long ago.
He misses his two children.
His intermittant attempts to reconnect with them are met, more and more frequently with contempt and disdain from the children and acidic animosity from their mother.
He misses the the woman he loves.
Not the mother of his children.
The one woman he trusted.
The one person he trusted completely.
He loves her in the present tense even though she left him long before she deserted him.
Every breath draws back the cold, hollow slap of an empty, silent apartment.
Celibate for years, again.
Long ago, long before he tried one last time to love and trust, he shunned sex as conquest and developed a disgust of those that practice it.
Long ago, intimacy became a matter of trust and devotion.
Now, every genuine human contact is a soulful reminder of what life could be.
What it should be.
What it has never been.
And at nearly 45 years old he has resigned himself to...
What it will never be.
Love has been distilled to a fantasy.
Sex is just a reason to shower twice in the same day.
He is cordial and always polite.
Holding doors and offering aid to the healthy as well as the less than capable.
He is not, however, gregarious.
He never has been.
That skill wasn't offered in the list of high school electives.
Neither was emotional stability and growth 101.
Raised in a sufficient yet less than savory family and home, he developed coping devices at an all too early age.
While effecient, those devices were not adequate to carry him through life.
He is cognizant of the deficencies.
He lacks the tools to repair, modify or improve upon them.
He is not weak.
Certainly not spineless.
He grows more quiet.
It SHOULD be a clear sign.
An astute individual would take immediate note.
And, begin to acknowledge the signs.
The clear and lethal demeanor of a man that has been pushed as far as he is willing to go.
A few wish they had.
The aches and strains of coping grow more acute every day.
The disappointment, the pain gets worse and the soul's shell grows harder.
(...the hurt gets worse and the heart gets harder...)
More distrustful of others.
"Others" equal betrayal.
He sets about Mans most independant endeavor.
A man alone on the sea.
A man growing old upon the sea.
Trusting only himself.
Risking only himself.
Reaping only for himself.
He sets out with a dark, thumbnail moon above.
He forsakes an idyllic departure beneath a full moon.
The full moon no longer represents the things that he once believed.
It shines down harshly on the things he now knows are lies.
No longer is it the old friend he once stood eye to eye with in Nairobi.
No longer is it the anticipated thing of love and sharing that rose over Atlanta every 28 days.
No longer is it the shared symbol of love rising over icy sidewalks.
A semi-celestial reminder.
A symbol of disappointments.