And you wonder why.
You just cannot stop asking why.
You keep thinking to yourself, replaying the scenes in your head, flickety-flick, looking at every picture, every detail, trying to find out what went wrong, at which juncture, and to what extent and what type of damage the consequences lead to.
It becomes almost obsessive, almost possessive, as you lie half awake at night, the images in your mind's eye projecting themselves across the dark ceiling of your room, and they glaze silently across the walls in slow motion, freezing at every few points, zooming in and out, and you pore over every minute detail, dissecting it, examining every aspect to it, viewing it from reverse angles, pondering about the implications of the tiniest changes.
You stare into the pair of eyes and try to extrapolate every bit of what that glint means. You attempt to fathom that person's thoughts by pulling together every bit of significance from every inch of skin, hair, and most espcially the eyes, the eyes, those so-called windows to the soul- and what an esoteric term "soul" is!
You ponder and wonder and think and think and think.
You shift the frames in your mind, you rotate them, to see every single detail in its entirety and in its relation to every other detail's entirety. Colours fill some scenes, others are a grey-blueish blur, everything except the details that matter, which themselves are in the sharpest relief.
And every night- save those in camp- I have spent in this blurred half-awakened trance, re-viewing, re-visiting, reviewing- trying to see how the mistakes could have been avoided, how the opportunities could be seized to the fullest, and all the infinitum of implications had this or that been or not been.
It is a slavery. And I am enlsaved to this.
