I got through quiet spells. To force conversation or words or even utterances past a couple syllables from me is near impossible.
I don’t enjoy this quietude. My brain is active–always thinking, planning. Entire projects get built in my mind from beginning to end. Plans are seen to fruition. Lives come and go.
But there I sit thinking.
It is in these moments that nostalgia hits. I live vast lives in worlds I’ve never seen. In times I’ve never been a part of and places I’ll never go. The causes of such a nostalgia can be anything from an old song to a glance at an advertisement. Old movies, buildings, etc.
The nostalgia is certainly terminal. It causes action to die and a life ever after to be lived in my head.
How many times must I be an tragic film noir figure before the end credits finally roll?