Project: Unstable balance

06 ON A LANGUID NIGHT

On this languid summer night,
so soft and balmy,
With a timid little moon
peeking shyly past the eaves,
You could hardly have believed
a fate so tragic
Could deceive you into thinking
she'd be yours.
She has no soul, though physically she's heavenly,
Yet so coldly she has used you, then discarded you.
And your fragile ego crumbles almost helplessly,
Out of alibis, you tell yourself another lie.
Now you won't let this fleeting moment pass you by,
Her angel face is almost brushing yours;
So, oblivious beneath the languid sky,

You forget your resolutions, surrender to her.
Look at you — ridiculous, mumbling, incredulous;
She smiles back so amiably while wriggling herself free.
You step backwards, clammy, drenched in icy, chilling sweat,
And you feel so sordid — like a filthy little swine.
“You misunderstood me,” she mutters. “I didn't mean to lead you on.
I just wanted — sorry — only cuddles, nothing more.”
Dawn comes rushing rapidly with its pale and pallid sun,
And finds you sitting stupefied, reflecting on what you don't know.
She had seemed so docile,
almost perfectly malleable,
But those fantasies were nonsense — merely laughable.
Now you stare down at your big toes, barely even vigilant,
Close your eyes so peacefully, no longer knowing where you are.
You've learned the lesson instantly: you really should have waited.
“But tomorrow,” you hiss, “I'll try it all again!”

There are mistakes we learn something from. And then there are the ones that teach us everything.
We know how it will end.
We know it while it is happening, we know it when we think about it the following day, and we know it even better when we promise ourselves we will never fall for it again.
We analyse every detail, identify every trap, recognise every illusion, expose every act of self-deception.
We become experts in our own defeats.
And still, it isn't enough.
Because knowledge and wisdom are not the same thing.
On a Languid Night is the story of that wonderful short circuit that makes us human: the distance between what we know and what we stubbornly continue to do.
A little sentimental vaudeville in which the mind watches with resignation as the heart heads, yet again, towards the same cliff edge.
And so, when dawn arrives, the protagonist finally possesses everything he needs to avoid the next mistake.
He has understood.
Reflected.
Learned.
But tomorrow he will try again.
And perhaps this is the final, irresistible, dramatic and bitter Beckettian comedy of the human condition: spending our lives becoming ever more aware of our weaknesses without ever quite managing to give them up.