Interstitial

After the day, of work--or what have you that feels like work-- after the end of the workday, I come home. The sun is still shining but the air has cooled. It’s the most pleasant part of the day. I know I should take a walk, but I don’t. I tell myself I’m going to write. I check my email, or I read. And then sometimes I look up from what I’m doing, and I think, I should go outside. But what, what would I do outside? I can’t think of anything but to walk, and the truth is I think I will be bored walking. Walking with my thoughts that seem too much and yet not enough. And so I stay, I read, I update my Facebook page, I give up pretending I’m going to write. And then as the sky turns dusky, and the light fades away, I look again, I feel regret, not even a real regret, but a hollow shadow of regret. I’m wonder if I have missed out on some little slice of life, but I can’t bring myself to really believe that I have.