There is non-linearity in my life, events almost misplaced in time. Anachronistic is the word. Time is immaterial when it fails to bind moments in any coherent structure. And so it has been for a while.
But it wasn’t always like this. My life didn’t always consist of a meaningless set of events that I strung together to create a sense of purpose for my existence. There was a time when my life had a direction, when the arrow of time slowly dragged my life towards what seemed to be my eventual destiny.
I think I was a soldier, because many of the events that constitute my life consist of me fighting for glory, for God, and for my life. I was brave and I was strong, and fought hard.
And then there was Eliza, the woman I would love till the end of time itself. It had been love in the midst of war, a flicker of passion that had strengthened my resolve to remain alive, no matter what. And I did. Amidst the bullets and injuries, I always came out alive, knowing that she waited for me back home. Home was where I would return to mend my injured spirit, feed my famished body, and spend a few moments away from the real world in her arms, only to return to fight another day, another battle.
At least this was how things were until the fateful day. A derelict house still stands in a meadow, a reminder that those events are not mere fictions of my imagination.