Their Tomorrows
Never did he understand too much just how such things went- he never ought to rely on physical, man made things to seek out any sense of satisfaction. However he also never would forget the trees which he grew up in, and the wind. The wind blowing about all the things, there forgotten from days before. So one ought to suppose it was the quiet things which intrigued him, the whispers and blatant stares of thought which people fell into when being surely quite lost in their heads. The modest nods when accidentally making eye contact, those detached but ever so satisfying smiles- backed by no emotion or preconception, nothing but just quiet. His name was Rasmus, and he yet was to be nothing more than an undeniably lonely man. He came from New York, half German and quarter dutch- with a few investments in unsuccessful companies and a law degree from Columbia he meagerly made a living. There was no good explanation for his unfortunate state, some may say the stars had not aligned just yet for him, but possibly it was that Rasmus had a different understanding of things. Surely he never intended to rattle things up, never intended to change things, but instead he simply, and quietly stood by the side watching carefully, and ever so more then others, understood all the things.
  It was on a Thursday then, when all those things crumbled away before him. He had endured the hardships of working in Paris for nearly two years with no one to stand by him whom he could call a friend, no one but Amanda. Amanda had a long face, and the type of blue eyes in which things simply melted away. That pale, plain, but bitterly beautiful sharpness which only allowed for superb thing to make notice; she had met Rasmus in New York many years before, and ever since only allowed Rasmus to be of most superb quality. It was an anxious relationship, but at night when Paris grew tired of its tourists and on going traffic, Amanda and Rasmus would sit on their balcony, over looking the ragged, and so wonderfully gilded city, perhaps smoking cigarettes, perhaps indulging in cheap wine. Yet ever so often when they would sit, not sharing conversation nor even a touch, they would glance at each other, give one another a nod, and exchange detached and modest smiles. There were no words, but there didn't have to be. -- It was the quiet which intrigued him.
That particular day he wandered about the avenues before making his way back to the apartment. It was a Thursday and it had rained since the beginning of the week, the streets were empty and the only noise the city was making had been the belligerent honks of rattled Parisians navigating their way through the streets to make it home from their rather uneventful lives- But there where Rasmus stood were no cars, only the  hectic cries of storm drains washing away the filth let itself be heard. With no ambition to get home he turned down a few streets, and found his way to the soaked lawns on the Champ de Mars.
He looked back onto all those things which once were, then when there was time to make a change, when he was young, and with all those years that have passed, and these things which happened, as such things do happen, it all happened too quickly it seemed. He remembered when he was a child, and all those things which he intended to do, where he was now, where he had been, and how this particular day would end. The rain had not stopped nor did the clouds intend to clear away, Ramus sat on a bench and stared up at the immense steel which pierced the skies of Paris, the Eiffel Tower had stood there for so long, enduring so many things, and yet the tower always only stood and let things happen around it, watching carefully, and understanding all the things. The quiet is what intrigued it. But for the first time in a very long time Rasmus felt an overwhelming sensation of sadness. He felt as if he was not very much different from the steel which just stood, always stood, letting all the things occur around it. But perhaps most of humanity is doomed to be steel, and time plays its game with us, just up until it wins. Right then, when you scream and yell, it pretends to be blind, so many things one only gets then when it’s useless to them. And there sat Rasmus, by that wet muddy lawn, and on that gray pitiful Thursday. He lit up a cigarette, and called for a cab. He needed Amanda, and he needed those detached yet ever so satisfying smiles on the balcony.
The apartment was lit up, and the door to the balcony was open and so the wind was blowing against the curtains. He stepped outside, and felt the cool air which one only feels when a storm had just passed, even though the rain had stopped, wind still blew leftover droplets of it into Rasmus's face and the lights of the city, and the rooftops, cried out for acknowledgment. He sat down in his chair, and looked over to Amanda's chair only to find a note there where she instead would be sitting. He read it, put it down, lit up a cigarette and looked at that wonderfully gilded city. “I had to get out. -Amanda”
He inhaled and puffed and the smoke rose up, and things turned into white noise, he was static, he kept inhaling but everything was static.
The next morning when he woke up, he got up quickly, he understood why Amanda had to leave, he understood these things. And that pitiful gray Thursday was a good day for him, because potentially, just maybe, he could rattle thing up, but he did not know this just yet. All he knew was that he understood, yet things still appeared static. And the white noise grew louder while people’s voices were silenced. The sun raged on that Friday, and it continued to do so that Saturday. On sunday it was a bit cool, but it seemed the rain had passed. And while for so long time had its way with Rasmus by running everything passed him far too quickly for him to even pay notice, it now gave him exactly what he had wanted, right then when he no longer needed it; and it happened in such a way that every minute Rasmus was forced to endure, it felt as if an eternity had gone by. He had no way of escaping this cycle, he slept constantly wishing that perhaps he’d wake up and the day had gone by, or something had changed, yet instead every time he woke all he found had been that only twenty or thirty minutes or so had gone by. There was no escape, he was stuck in an ironic, yet frighteningly sadistic game which time itself had thought up, just for him. He had no friends to talk to and there was no family, but the balcony still stood there, and some nights he’d sit out there over watching the city, and so it occurred on a Monday when Rasmus decided perhaps it was best to die.
Not pitifully though, he would not let himself be wasted away, he figured out a path he could take in which time, would lose the game. He agreed he had to go, that it all was too overwhelming and that while the stars may be beautiful to look at, they just as well may push a man into insanity, they represented all that which simply was too much. They verified that Rasmus, was nothing more than steel, and that Rasmus would simply watch, as time rages on, and as the stars continue to burn up in all their grandiose complexity, while Rasmus, was rather meaningless, and static.
He packed a bag full with his necessities, leaving all things behind, and took a flight to Kurdistan, here he would continue being Rasmus, but he knew he would die. He wanted to die, not heroically, fighting to help refugees, or helping to stabilize the region, no he had no intention to do such things, he simply wanted to be shot down in crossfire, step on a landmine. He wanted it to be done quietly, yet not intentionally. But it seemed that he had not escaped anything by leaving Paris. His sadness, and that pitiful gray Thursday. Time had sped up again, and things ran passed him, and while he focused so intently on dying, it was even death which he could not achieve. Rasmus had to play along, he had to do it himself, and bleed out whatever life he still had in him. Weeks had gone by, and then months, and soon it appeared just as Rasmus moved to Paris where he merely existed, he only would move to Kurdistan, to merely exist.
It was on a Sunday when Rasmus took the day off, he went to a Hookah Cafe, sat near the window and inhaled. Perhaps he ought to just play along, perhaps. ---
But across the room he saw a pretty face, reading the news, there she sat in a dimly lit corner, perhaps waiting on something. He looked over at her, almost starring, and she looked up, their eyes made contact, and she smiled, but it was not detached, nor was it modest. It was a smile, and he remembered the trees from when he was a child, and all the noise they would make, and the conversations they would have, and the songs they would sing when the wind blew through their leaves. And he smiled, but it was not detached, it was not modest, he nodded at her, and she nodded at him. It happened then, that he altogether forgot about time, he did not know whether it went by too fast, or too slow, it simply happened, right then. And he felt it happen. He stood up, because he had changed things, he had rattled things up, and all those things which he thought to have understood, now seemed all but so foreign. His yesterdays, seemed so distant, he sat down with the woman, and said hello. Perhaps she would be just a woman, or a friend, or someone he would fall in love with. But it did not matter, because it was on that Sunday when Rasmus felt intrigued by a whole new thing altogether, and their tomorrows appeared so distant.