5 minutes of Therapy

So I’ve decided, that as long as I can keep it up. This is going to be my post. I consider these small “fiction breaks” to be therapy for me. Read, write, do what you like. I’d love comments. I can tell I’m beginning to get more done in my time constraint. That makes me happy. It spells progress.

The funny thing to me is, when my goal for a day or a weekend was to write something. I couldn’t do it. When I look at writing as a “release” or a “study break” I feel compelled to throw something down. Anything. If it is is not any good, well, that is fine. It is supposed to be something to give my brain a rest from the law, not something that is supposed to win awards.

Here is another 5 minute experiment:

5 minutes:

Charles kicked a pile of leaves as we walked down the street together. It was autumn, and piles of leaves littered the small neighborhood street we strolled down each night. It was a tradition, each night, just as most people were slipping into bed, we would slip out into the night. Not to create mischief, but merely to observe. We talked about what we had seen, and how we felt about our day, our lives, and our memories. It was a connection I will never forget. How could I bare my soul to another guy like that? Why was it okay to talk to him? I guess it was just the history, we had known each other for so long, but still there was something more. It seemed as if only Charles was given full access to my fears. Am I really stupid? Do I come across as cold? Do I shake hands correctly? All the things I wondered about, but never said out loud, were finally released to him. Charles never seemed to notice how special this was to me, to him it was just a reason to get some exercise in after his job. I wondered if losing 2 hours of sleep for the chance to talk was really worth it, but I never missed a night. We walked in all sorts of weather, rain, fog, snow, even when the humidity was so high I felt like I was breathing in mayonnaise, we went out. It was nice. If I was quiet, he never cared. After all, we were supposed to be doing this for the exercise, so talking was not required. It just happened when it happened. Silence filled the rest.

Charles and I stopped walking one day, and we stopped talking shortly after. Sometimes I wish I still walked with him, but other times I am glad I moved on. It was alright that it ended, our intimacy was removed, but we remained friends. Eventually. That was the only silence that wasn’t alright. Not speaking deliberately. That is when silence spoke more.


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