|Image Source: http://werol.deviantart.com/art/transience-of-desire-555753276|
The TV drones on in the living room, forgotten and ignored. I have heard what it had to say and anything more will be only words. Instead I numbly stumble my way through the house, unsure of my destination. I miss the fact that the timer on the stove is flashing zeroes. That the pasta water has boiled down low into a bubbling froth of overcooked starch. The bitter smell of the burnt garlic bread too barely registers. I halt for a moment, seeing the gory red splatter that mars the once pristine white. Some part of me reasons and I reach out to turn the heat under the sauce off.
Before any further cognition can jar me from my fugue I see the sky through the window. I shuffling dumbly onward, pushing through the crooked screen door that I never found the time to repair. Somehow I manage the steps; my eyes are locked on an impossible sight. The sky is branded in colors that cross the spectrum. Blues and yellows and greens mixing with reds and purples and streaks of orange.
I sit, the old chair accepting my body as mindlessly as my body has accepted the end. I stare at the blotter of colors, the painter's palette of ruin and end. The end of all that is and was is more beautiful than any moment of my life I can recall, or any inspiration of imagination that has touched the mind of child or artist. I weep as I sit and watch the sky unravel, the stars bow to darkness, and all around me on the stage of life as the sets come down.