Ok, my first post, so be gentle, but be honest! I'm thinking that my title is a little too up-it's-own-a@se and the same for the content, but I suppose I'll have to stop somewhere and set it free!

He sits opposite the older man, nervous and shy. The man smiles at him gently, compassionately. He is urged to talk, to give voice to whatever is on his mind. And so he begins, haltingly at first, but soon finding a rhythm.

He’s deeply unhappy - that much is clear to the man – and much of what he talks about is in his past, in his childhood. That he doesn’t want to feel sorry for himself is a moot point; he clearly does. He talks about how his life is passing him by in a blur, even though each day seems to drag as though caught on the undertow of it’s own monotony. His colleagues, his daily experiences, his very existence – all are described by what has passed before. He is, for want of a better description, trapped in time.

The man tries to move him on to other subjects. What of the future? It’s mentioned, but fleetingly. He says he knows that whatever hopes and ambitions he does have are already failed and unrealised, and the man realises that they must seem infected by the cancer of his tainted youth.

So the man presses him; what would he like to happen with his life, regardless of how unrealistic it may seem? Who would he like to be if designing himself from scratch?

The change in him is remarkable. Freed from the bindings of his doubts and fears, he talks animatedly about settling down, having a family, moving back near home and maybe even working for himself one day. Without encouragement, he goes on to describe in detail the house he would live in, the names for his two children, the car he drives, the work he does. It is obvious these are things he has thought about in depth and equally obvious no other ear has received them before. “And why can’t you have all that?” asks the man. He replies that he supposes there’s no reason, but the doubt and fear have returned to their place in his head behind his eyes.

The man closes his book, smiles and lets out a mental sigh. He checks his watch, surprised at how long he’s been. There was a lot more packing to be done before the move to the new house, bought just before their second child was due. And he hadn’t even started on his office yet! He carefully packs the book with the rest of the dusty items and carries the box downstairs to be placed with the rest. Moving may be stressful, he thinks, but you do find things that you’d not seen in years. Like the diary you wrote twenty years and a life ago.