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Prose

Edgar

I can call anyone I want to now. It’s right here in my hand and it doesn’t mean a thing. Unrealized potential. Because I don’t have the words to properly describe my condition. Maybe they already exist and I’m just too ignorant to know or perhaps it’s because what I feel doesn’t fit into words.

What good would talking about it do since I have no friends? I work with a few people, sure, but they’re barely acquaintances. My close friends died years ago and took my heart with them.

I try to carry on with what I have left: a small home, an uneventful job, and a bit of a drinking problem. I used to dream of more, back when I was in high school and I knew nothing about desolation and the grinding wheel of life. I thought then that my future would be filled with opportunities, and it has, but I pass by them like obscured exit ramps. I just keep on driving, trance-like, into the night.

© 2021 Jeff E. Brown. All rights reserved.

By jebrownwriter

Houston, TX-based Writer and Photographer. Proud pet rescuer who spends nearly all his money on them.

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