Zona

I want the emotion of regret removed from my being, my mind, and my soul.

I want a second story room with a high ceiling, a wooden floor, and thick black curtains that shut out all but just enough light to allow the faintest of silhouettes of objects on the walls.

I want the predawn sounds of a scratchy radio whispering a selection of classical jazz while I sit at a table in a robe knowing that I don't have to think about anything, I don't have to do anything or go anything or care anything.

I want all of my worries and concerns in a bottle placed on a forgotten shelf.

I want a cup of carrot tea and a hard roll with butter.

I want to be greeted to the day outside by the paperboy yelling out his call to people who read his newspapers without caring much what they say.

I want to walk the market street as the vendors pull the sheets of their wares and the women sweep the debris from in front of their stalls pausing every now and then to chase away the curious dog.

I want quiet life.

I owe it to myself and god knows I owe it to my wife. I took her away from her family and she's never complained out loud about it once. Now she's hearing about the death of aunts and uncles. People she knew as a child and a young woman. People who had an influence on her life. Now it's my turn to leave family behind.

Just give me a few more years for all the kids to get out of school and out on their own. Then I'll be ready for the move.

Regret won't enter into it then.

I'll be ready.