I’ve five minutes to spare and I get to sit here and wait for my building to open once more. Have an idea for a bit of fiction but I need to wait as it might take a while. Why not start now? Why not just get it underway? I don’t want to be interrupted.

I’m still listening to Talk talk, though that mostly has to do with enjoying the music that they made, and it’s a quiet morning. A loud morning, but a quiet morning. No music being played behind me, and that’s good. I quote like that.

I’ve eaten and I’m waiting, and in a way I’m waiting for this space to come to its end. Can’t force it. Could stop it now, but that’d be less enjoyable for me. That wouldn’t be in the spirit of things.

Light fulls the area and yet this area remains darkened. This area remains caged in shade, and that helps keep it cool. However, I have to wonder as to how warm these seats get on a hot day. These seats are metal. They feel heavy and durable. They feel like the kind of thing that takes in heat and refuses to let go. I feel like I am, in a way, refusing to let go. However, I will. I said I would and, even though I don’t have to, I do want to. I want to let go and move on, and soon that will happen. Soon I will be able to walk away, and I’ll be happy with that, regardless of how hard it will be.

More noise comes in. The area is waking up. The traffic has grown quiet. This is nice. This is enjoyable. I like this. Good times. Great times, even. Quiet, alone times. Left with my thoughts, my coffee and my rubbish. Left with myself. Time for thinking, or something.

And the traffic picks back up and soon I am to get up and go upstairs. Soon I will sit down and write some more and then I’ll get on with the day. I’ll get on with the getting of the on. I will do my work and then I’ll go home and work some more. That’s what I do. And this morning will be a memory I probably won’t remember. It’ll be part of a tapestry that is crowded and has so much more to have woven into it. And that’s beautiful in a way. It’s also meaningless piffle, but it’s beautiful to me, and it doesn’t really matter outside of this bit of writing.

We craft our lives so easily and thread through so many things into a singular experience, and at the end of it all we remember so much and so little. And what do we leave behind? What is our legacy? What does it even matter? So long as we lived a good life and helped others and tried to leave the planet in a better state than it was in when we started, how much does any of the rest of it matter?

I don’t know and I don’t pretend to know. I just hope and think about these things in a rather surface way, and I try to live in a healthier way than I did yesterday. And I hope that, at the end of it all, I’ll leave things a little better than they were when I was born.