There was an email to the faculty this morning from campus security. Someone had broken into the warehouse on Brookline and Waverly Streets, and whatever they had done had caused a power surge throughout the campus. In the coming days, I am sure that they will send out a similar email in search of a missing neuroscience major named Christopher Fabula.
I knew exactly what had happened, and while I hate the part I played in it, and I wish I could have changed something — anything — in the past eleven years, I realize that I never had a choice. That every outcome up until now was predetermined, that my decisions were dangled like carrots before me while I was trapped inside of a Möbius strip of emotion. Time is malleable, hardly more than a structure that we impose to clarify the universe. But breaking free from that structure can be just as suffocating as being defined by it, and for the first time in more than a decade I am able to live within a single structure of it, a singular linear perspective, rather than experiencing time and life flowing all around like an angry river crashing through my life in a feedback loop of causal effect.
But I can still smell his sweat on my bedsheets, so I step outside and breathe the fresh morning air and I finally look forward, lonely and free.