Stream of unconsciousness
You don't hate me, but you avoid me. You've done it before, you'll do it again. It's not fear, but I make you wary. I don't have to see you to know it. You can close your eyes and not meet my gaze and I could still feel you.
But let me tell you one thing. You have nothing to be wary of, nothing that should ever make you fear. Especially not when it comes to me. You only think you do, but the little flicker in your chest, the alternating excitement and resentment in every heartbeat, you do not suppress it. You cannot.
You are afraid of a rollercoaster of emotions, another ride you didn't volunteer to join. But we will not go that route. We will be this way, aware of an ending although we lost sight of the beginning years ago. But this is the safer route.
Let me tell you a secret. We lose nothing completely. Oftentimes, it all just changes form.
Have you given me something that is vital? Do you regret it now? But what I give to you, you also gave to me.
If you cried yourself to sleep at night, I can see it now, the way your tears become scattered pearls on my constellation. Have I shattered hearts? But the broken fragments are scarlet glass glittering into a hundred, thousand stars, ever bright and ever burning.
I left, but I also left a part of me with you— no, I gave it to you freewilling, as I have done to so many other significant chance encounters in this lifetime. But each piece is unique, and the piece of me that is with you, if you recognized it, it lies in the tender palm of your hands. But do you realize the strength you have in you? Do you realize that you can so break that part of me if you only so much wish it so? You are free to do so, and do so, if you please. But when I cease to be someone, do scatter my shards unto the sea and let the waves swallow me, take me away, until I am oblivion.
I will never exist. I am nothing new. Maybe you think me strong, but I fear something so small as a farewell. As I have come, then I must go. As I have gone, then I will come. What am I, if nothing more than a cycle? Intangible, and living as a tiny particle along a never-ending ray of light.
Here I am, but what you must understand, I am fleeting like the wind. I will always slip right through your fingers. I cannot be grasped. Such is my nature and I am not to apologize for it. But if you wish to hear me say it so, then my dear, I am sorry.
I am a sunset in another planet, I am a sonnet written in the dark. I will always be a ballad, your ballad. And you of all people must know that ballads never end happily. But the good thing about ballads is that they are sweetly sad and endearing. Therein lies their beauty, their value.
You think I speak of sense, but I have none of that which are precious to you. I am lonely, I am alone , I am detached. But I am free, and happy, if it alights on me.
And I now see you smile. What do you know, I can tell this smile is sincere. That smile is lovely. You are well on your way, and I will never stop you.
The truth of the matter is, my fantasy is your reality. One day, you will completely tire of me, and brush aside whatever memory you have of me. I will be just an annoying dream, one that is crossed between wakefulness and slumber. And you will wonder to yourself if I ever really happened, and you will tell yourself no, there was never me. I will be just a part of nostalgia, a lying past that makes us think our memories are sweeter than they really are bitter.
One day, I will be to you just like an annoying itch, a brush of a feather, a bat of an eyelash, a blink of an eye. I was once there, or maybe not, and even if I was, I am easily forgettable, not quite even a memory, just a mere mention.
And I can tell, in the treasure chest of our heart of hearts, you look forward to that day, not quite obviously or adamantly but also not quite a secret. And I do, too. Let us heal, when that day comes in all its finality.
But for now...
Hi, nice to meet you. I am a cosmic speculation. Won’t you tell me your name?
