Implied Consent


Today began in silence.

That’s neither unusual nor unwelcomed. It surely hasn’t always been this way.

Struggling to dress, I’m surprised to find myself recalling recent moments bleeding with uncertainty, bordering on terror (but somehow ending with a stipulation – with myself – of better days just ahead).

Now, I too often just fade into some backward-looking eternity. One where my earliest memories annihilate those made only yesterday.

I stumble, forward.

And so here I wait. A man who cannot verify his past, and without assurance that any of it mattered anyway.

Consent was never requested, never given.

Except that now, my silence is deemed consent.

Even though I no longer can rage.


Copyright 2019

Image Credit: Pixabay


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