Dinner

Finally, the table. It should be funny anyways it should be warm and cozy. It should be meaty and tasty and salty and sweet. It should contain the pleasures of life. Although everything was there, nothing was here. It should be like a carnival in motion, it should be like a jungle of salads. A portion in motion. But nothing. Tasteless and empty. Its been three years since I jumped from the high hills and the fall gets lonely and lonely, this depths are not well known by jumpers, hence I am not accompanied by others. Sometimes I see someone very far away passing through cutting the air or out of control. Some others just go against the rocks and die immediately when trying to get a grip. There are objects like cars, or rings, pulses or clocks, TV screens or shoes and clothes floating around.

I saw a table, with a dinner. Me falling, me sitting. Pretending I talk, pretending I use. There is a wine with still some of it inside, there are some glasses too. Just held by the contact of old solid honey spilled all over. There is me again, who flew all the way to the seats still on their positions during the fall. This table and the cold air that modifies my face every second are my companions. I hold to it, I need to belong to this, to something to a surface... although false... it reminds me what is to be on a horizontal axis again. I try and hide behind... but might make me weak and I might get used to it while I go downwards to nowhere.

Where am I going now? When I jumped there was a purpose, now it seems vanquished. It seems forgotten by the other side of my brain. How my face really looks like now, how my landing would be, and where will I land anyways? Gone, absent, there is no point to keep going with the dinner, but there is no point to jump again to the void. I better sit here and pretend I talk, or I better jump over the table and don't fall anymore.