Aged calendars grow yellow, brown and die. New ones replace them.
Life peeps through those square blocks, never giving everything, but enough to hop from one square to other.
I tried to hop back to the square I came from, but found it improbable.
There seemed only one thing for me to do, jump forward.
I stand, sometimes, on the boundary between the squares wondering whether there is anything worthwhile in the next blocks. Then, a tide cascades over me, I drown and when I get up I am so far away that I can't see where I had been.
One day, they removed the calendar. No ruffling papers, no moth-eaten squares, no boundaries. I was helpless. They took my life away. Behind, there was nothing. Ahead, more so. I tried walking but didn't know if I moved at all.
There was no point crying for there was no point in being pointless about being pointless. What was left with me was a tuned brain accustomed to the square blocks and a little bit of wit unaccustomed to the tuned brain.
These 2 merged.
A new vision enveloped.
Doors. Open it, you get another one. I know everytime I push the handle that I am going to see a replica of the same door. But everytime the door knob clicks, there is a rise and fall of the chest which enlivens me.
I was the creator of the pattern. If there is anybody who could change it, it is me. As if I bother to....