the pain of the hour hand

it's dusk. at least I think this is dusk. I've never really had anybody explain the concept to me, but I've always interpreted it to be that little bit of time between day and night. that sliver of a moment where everything in the world looks it's best. a slight darkness mixed with the faint orange glow of what's left of the sun. it's the lighting that makes a building look cosy, a car look clean, skin look perfect, hair soft, and a sky like heaven. there's no time like this time. no time so short that can make things feel so endless. even so, dusk speaks less of immortality than it does death.

I'd be sitting on a lake right now if I didn't have the realization that this time was about to come to a close.

instead though, I'm sitting on the balcony of a friend's townhouse. it's peaceful here too though. it has all the securities of a home but without the responsibilities that accompany one. I can smell the secondhand smoke of somebody on a neighboring balcony... but the balcony, it seems, is a private place... so I've neglected looking over to see the smoke's producer. I wonder if they would still be smoking if they knew how much I desired to join them... but that I quit nine months ago. in my imagination it's a woman who's on that balcony. in my imagination she sees me, and sees the look on my face... the look of a man who's trying as hard as a hopeless heart can possibly try. and in my imagination, despite everything anyone would ever expect, she cares. it's such an intimate, selfless care too. she stops with her lips so slightly apart, and after the length of pause that it takes to fully ingest all of my history, hopes, desires, and feelings, she puts out her half smoked cigarette and turns to walk inside. and the best part... she stops just before her hand touches the door and turns to me and says, "I'm so proud of you," then walks inside.

none of this happens though.

by the time I've finished writing, the smoker is gone, the dusk has died, and I, the singular constant in this story, press on without the world's encouragement. that's what that whole tangent was, wasn't it? a pretend world where every other human being is excited about your desire for purity on an eternal scale. but imagining what could occur in the world is vital to changing what does occur in the world.

I've just gotten into one of those slumps where I feel like if I could only see some change, some sign of movement, something, I would have such a burst of energy that nothing could stop me. instead I see a million others around me collecting company bonuses, and getting married, and altogether receiving praise from the powers that be... and all I want is sign that I'm on my way. but this is all when I'm busy looking from the wrong perspective.

you see, my life is not that of a second hand, but of an hour hand. while the movement of a second hand is so much more apparent to the fleeting viewer, it's the change of an hour that holds significance in a real person's life. so while my movement is slow, and while my growth may be invisible to many at present, it will the movement that's recorded in history. not just a dusk, but a lifetime. not just a cigarette, but an entire human existence to the extent of success that few have seen or imagined.