They\’92ve all gone; packed their bags, their cigarettes. Got themselves neat haircuts and wore rings. They\’92ve crossed over.
\
\’93It was time,\’94 they said.
\
They can no longer stay inside the tunnel. They\’92ve embraced the light they\’92ve been eyeing for so long; the same light that I\’92ve always seen as a suggestion, the one that I\’92m willing to ignore for as long as it takes.
\
The tunnel is emptier now, having lost four more feet to the light.
\
Some nights I find myself roaming its belly, searching for new avenues where I could forget that I am, after a long while, all alone in this place. I think of those who have come before me and those after me; all those who have walked in and out of this place. I still see glimpses of their presence hovering in corners like ghosts, but I know they are just memories that seemed to be caught in time.
\
Once in a while, they visit me. I take them back to the dark alleys where we left our past laughter. We pick them up but they no longer sound as crisp as they used to. I point out new things that have cropped-up since they left. They marvel at these new sights. But they know that they can no longer have or enjoy these things. It\’92s now forbidden to them.
\
They tell me all about living in the light. How demanding it can be sometimes. But there\’92s a certain tenderness to the way they described these \’93demands\’94 that I actually envied them for it. But there are times when all I can see in their eyes are the dying embers of their once burning stare. But I may be imagining things.
\
Towards the end of their visit they usually become reluctantly silent, as if leaving the tunnel is the most difficult thing to do. But once you\’92ve pledged allegiance to the light, it wouldn\’92t do to leave it for stretches at a time. It feeds on your presence and makes you really feel guilty when you neglect it.
\
They didn\’92t have to tell me that they\’92re leaving. I understood.
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