Common Denominators

I am the lowest common denominator. In this moment of singularity, in which all are, I am driving drunk. Headed South bound on BC-99, I do not plan on making it to the US border. It was not through an accumulation of these of these singularities did I get here, but one. This instant of time was so brief I cannot pinpoint it precisely. I do know that it happened, and that is what matters.

Can one kill themselves if in the instant of the action, it is no longer? The act is in itself ritualistic, an accumulation of one to express the meaning of all. Fear departs into desperation and slips into acceptance. Miniscule acts of self-violence can be performed, but these do not abate the issue, rather they mar human perfection. This is not a singularity so it cannot be the solution.

As the lowest common denominator, am I no longer divisible? I never was, for a singular moment is all that I have possessed. Together they paint a picture across the face of time, but divided they appear to be no more than a bleeding color wheel with no more purpose than my left ear. One moment not only seems like all, but it is. What happens when one moment reflects the suffering of all? We find ourselves in a very precarious situation.

Down the twisted mountain highway, headlights whip across my field of view, followed by an eerie red glow fading into my review mirror. Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear, yet they disappear. Nothing. How large, how singular. Nothing left. Feel nothing. Nothing matters. But it does matter, why else would I be here? It matters so, so much. Too much in fact.  But here, in this singular moment, I realize that I want to survive. Survival is singular. I pull my car over to flip a U-turn back to my Airbnb. Not tonight.