The Shadow of the Object

As you grow older your fantasy life starts slipping away, early daydreams, romantic and professional, less and less likely to materialise. The options narrow, ships set sail one by one. I had seen many, many ships depart. In my mid-thirties the harbour, once crowded, had begun to empty. But what were my fantasies, exactly? Supple, malleable and open to fluctuation. Willing, to a degree, to adapt to a new person or situation, as long as said person or situation didn’t reveal itself too entirely. But if I were truly honest, they were probably more monolithic. Perhaps the moment had come to forsake some of the fantasies and go off-piste.