Walking with Beckett

At that time I called my eldest brother. There was no other one to call except him. Elderly is the light of wisdom and that's what I needed.
Nobody knew what was happening, as nobody knows, still, at this very moment.
"I declared war to myself", I said to him, " and this is the simplest solution."
I was driving carefully around the block, phone at my ear, same hand shifting gears, from time to time.
He told me, "Hmmm... I knew there was something going on, something wrong somewhere, I could feel it from the distance."
He was surprised. First for the call and then for the news. But he couldn't really imagine the realm of the situation. As I didn't. I was just driving in circles and that was the assembly of all of my feelings. My emotions were all set and crushed against that wheel.
I knew, and I knew as the circle got wider and deeper, as time went of, that it was a war with no end. That declaring war with oneself it's the lock for the eternal conflict, where there's no peace, where there's no hushed quietness.
My eldest brother was faraway, only his voice came down, dimly, the images in my mind were all blurry, palled. No new tale to tell. Only the transmission, the engine and the seat belt of my car were in guard, feeling the same way as I, clutching its combustion until energy blew them away, when the road would be no use for steering anymore. That was war and would go on endless until I die.
Only if I would be immortal. War wouldn't matter anymore.
I'm still here and if there is an end is yet to come.


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