outside the abandoned theatre

I haven't thought about it in a while. That long walk through the dusty place, then the Ferris wheel and wide sky. The distant strip of sea stays in my mind.

I have been looking more toward the future than the past, but the past is implicated in my worries about the future. Like: Why do I tend to think I'm inadequate? (Flash to the empty dark theatre.) Why do I fear getting trapped? (How the theatre was a maze and it almost never ended.)

I don't want to go back to the dark and claustrophobia. But in flashes I go back numerous times every day. (The sea and exuberant screams. Skipping stones in cold March light, wrapped in her cream-colored shawl. Bare feet on a trampoline. Always, the courtyard gardens.)

A friend appears at my door holding a script and he asks me to continue investigating the abandoned theatre. Maybe now as an archaeologist instead of a prisoner. I am afraid of what bones I might find.

But it's been a long time since I've seen this friend, with whom I escaped, the last time. I miss him. So I agree.