I lie in the centre of a room,staring up at the concave roof. I am bathed in the glow of the orbs which burn above me, sightly offset from the parallel with mine eyes.
Behind me, there is a red velvet rope, adjacent a man adorned in a white business shirt and a black silk tie, over this, a black dinner jacket, complete with symmetrically folded, eternally unused, white handkerchief in the pocket. The formalities extend from his torso to his legs, in single creased pants and shoes, shiny, like a pearl that had been scorched in the fires of hell before a lacquering by the hand of Jesus.
This man stands, to lift the red velvet rope at an invisible command, to allow one of the large men behind the rope to pass free of its obstructive bias; men of largeness constrained so forcibly by a mere velvet rope, an irony neglected perhaps, had I not the fortune to have eyes beyond myself.
To pass the rope, the men must wait until his ancestor has descended from the alter on which I lie; he must never speak of his higher level encounters, but these eyes hold no oath, so I shall divulge these without inhibition nor remorse.
The men, once arisen, sit upon my face with ever increasing pressure; each one of these men personify some weight I carry, each one represents a day.
I regret the leaving of each of these men, I know the next will be of greater mass, moreover each departure is another less to depart before I am alone, to face the arena itself, when that happens, the eyes who watch the men depart and act as scribe shall be bound to the body,
I want to thank the seasons for what they have done in enriching me and helping me survive, I only hope that I come out of the empty arena to embrace once again my favorite season with new a new and intense excitement, tended not by absence, but by capability and joy.
I shall miss most the autumn, but as a tree sheds leaves in preparation for growth at her will, I shed dependence in preparation for the growth of myself as a person, to create a structure upon which we may both fix eyes.