Maybe once was enough for this traveler.

There are things, they say, you should try at least once. Then maybe that once was enough. “I only regret I have one life to give.” Once. Breathe.

This post shall be confused. Confusing? Yes. But confused: there is conflict. Shadows flitter within and I remember what the shadows are, what they might mean. And yet when the eye turns upon them they return to the ether from which all shadows come: empty, cold, barren, alone. Figments. Conflict.

All that is left within is the shadow of a thought. A fleeting memory that escapes my grasp. Maybe that is for the best? One forgets the feeling of warmth in the cold, so too is this. One simply forgets: grows apart, grows ever and ever more hard, more capable of living without.

No man is an island, they say. What am I? (I’m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy.)

There is irony in the fact that I’ve spent a little over $100,000 to become a member of the world’s most reviled profession. To become a member of one of the most reviled subsets of the most reviled professions. There is irony in this.

No man is an island?

My routine is simple these days. Wake up, shower, brush my teeth, check my email, go to class. Four hours of review, walk to work. I like work. There’s good people there. It has a very humanizing effect on me. Maybe that’s why I do what I do?

(Nothing really matters. Anyone can see. Nothing really matters – nothing really matters to me.)

I finish work. I ride the T. I check my mail – nothing but bills. Those days are gone now. I go in my studio apartment and frown at its state. I vow to clean up, remember I don’t have any time. Maybe next weekend. I hit the books for another hour, unless its Friday. I hit the books but I don’t really learn anything. I just think. There’s time to do things later.

Always time to do things later.

I watch old television or movies until midnight. I go to sleep. At least I can sleep easy these days. I might wake up at three or four in the morning for no reason, but I can fall asleep easy.

I wake up the next day and its the same routine.

I’m okay with this routine. The routine itself doesn’t bother me. The studying sucks but it’s one of those things you live with. You have to do it because otherwise you won’t pass. If you don’t pass the bar you can’t be a lawyer, can’t live your life. Your life? Gotta pass the bar. The work is good, and challenging, and keeps me from ripping my hair out.

The people are good. She’s cute and funny and laughs at my jokes. I feel oafish around her, and that makes me smile sometimes, but I forget just as easily. It’s not real. I shake my head and get back into the work. It’s not real.

Shadows flit inside. Maybe once was enough.

(Es mi situacion, una desolacion…)

I’m not even really cooking anymore. I love to cook. I love to eat too. It’s all an extension of the other I suppose. The studying’s starting to get to me. I don’t know if I can make it.

Practice exam: do worse than I feared but better than I thought. Practice makes perfect. We’re starting to understand. Maybe once will be enough.

(The door is open but there’s no sun shining through – dark heart scarring darker still but there’s no sun shining through.)

I close my eyes and get ready to sleep. The dreams will wash over me soon, taking me away from all of this. I won’t remember them when I wake up: shadows, flitting, fleeing, draining. The dreams are gone when I awake. (She lay beside me – but she’ll be there when I’m gone.) I wish I could remember.

Once really wasn’t enough. But it feels like that’s all I’ll get.

A single tear forms at the edge of my eyes and I bat it away.

It’s time to wake up.