I put the kettle on. I need some camomile tea to keep calm. Why? Isn’t everything calm enough? I don’t know. There are flutterings. In my head. Perhaps it is a headache. From too much anticipation. A headache having turned into a migraine. 3 years. Too weighty. When will it come to pass? I definitely need some tea. I look out the window. See nothing. Hear nothing. I turn on my computer. See nothing. Hear nothing. Except groans and sighs. From people who do not deserve it. From people who do not normally groan and sigh. Except in ecstasy when they hear him sing. I join in groaning and sighing. Anticipation is turning into disillusionment. When will he come? He does not say. He does not commit. No dates. Perhaps no plans. Almost like tantalising is his game. I sound unfair. But life is unfair. He is unfair. I sip my camomile. It tastes unusually bitter. Perhaps it is not the tea. Perhaps it is my mouth.
I gaze at the sheep. Multitudes of them. Down under the planet I am in New Zealand. Gazing at the meadows and the sheep. Hypnotised by the numbers. So silent. Only Wagner is playing. But I want him too. To sing to me. To continue giving me joy and comfort. He ignores my needs. He turns away from me. He attends only to the glory above. Glum. Just looking upwards. Not at me. Perhaps walking away. In gradualness. I have tired him. Exhausted him. He no longer wants to fill me. I thought he did. I no longer know what he wants. I thought I did. Illusive. And he is not telling. I am confused. So is everyone. Perhaps he is too.
I scratch my head. Who is he? An angel in transit? Or just another confused man? Does he really think he can shoulder all the pains and evils? Of the world? For the world? By looking upwards? I don’t know. So unfair. So one-sided. I want to stamp my feet in protest. But I don’t. It will just create more fireworks. Oh my head! Is it still there? Yes it is. I am still scratching it. Does he too scratch his and wonder what he is doing? And what the heck he is going to do with the lot of us?!