Jul 2015
To Sam*
We were stellar; we shone so bright, with our own light, spectacular, blinding. For a while there, you got me believing in forever. You made me think that somehow, a thing so pure, so strong, could last for an eternity. I was truly convinced that ten, thirty, fifty years from now, I'd reach out and your hand would still be there. I had faith in us, in how innocent and pure what you and I had was, in how love, true love, unblemished by carnal desires, could still have a place in our world. I believed in the simplicity of 'my soul loves your soul and it has been so since the beginning of time.' Your hand in my hand was the safest, most secure place in the world. I sometimes existed simply because of the fact that we were invincible and would last long after the stars had all died out. How stupid, how childish.
We were floating, building castles of thin air up on the clouds, and came down to earth not with a bump but with a crash. With an explosion. I sometimes stand in the middle of the living room, spaced out, and wonder, what now? I feel this whole in my stomach, as if a black hole has swallowed all my insides, and there's an endless void inside of me, and someone keeps punching me so I double up, but the fists don't stop- and then a moment of bliss, and it all starts over. A modern-day Prometheus trapped in the confines of my own mind.
The whole world's turned bellicose, and I don't even bother avoiding the shrapnels; could any physically inflicted pain hurt more than the storm inside of me? The only certain thing in my life went to ruins; turned to pieces so suddenly, without the slightest effort. And I think, were we really so brittle? If the backbone of my existence crushed so easily, what is there to say about the rest of my life? My strongest belief was shattered, and thus, all my other beliefs turned out to be evanescent.
I sometimes wish one of us had died. In this way, I would have someone, something external to blame, someone else rather than myself, rather than you, to hold responsible for what happened. Someone else, something else to be angry at for taking you away from me. Because now I am left with bitter disappointment at humanity's inability to preserve something so innocent and rare as the love we shared. But we're both alive, aren't we? Forced to exist separately, forced to breathe on our, and to build our castles in the clouds by ourselves, because when you break china dolls and crystal glasses, you don't put them back together. You just stand there with your hands bleeding from trying to pick up the pieces.
We were stellar; we shone so bright, with our own light, spectacular, blinding. For a while there, you got me believing in forever. You made me think that somehow, a thing so pure, so strong, could last for an eternity. I was truly convinced that ten, thirty, fifty years from now, I'd reach out and your hand would still be there. I had faith in us, in how innocent and pure what you and I had was, in how love, true love, unblemished by carnal desires, could still have a place in our world. I believed in the simplicity of 'my soul loves your soul and it has been so since the beginning of time.' Your hand in my hand was the safest, most secure place in the world. I sometimes existed simply because of the fact that we were invincible and would last long after the stars had all died out. How stupid, how childish.
We were floating, building castles of thin air up on the clouds, and came down to earth not with a bump but with a crash. With an explosion. I sometimes stand in the middle of the living room, spaced out, and wonder, what now? I feel this whole in my stomach, as if a black hole has swallowed all my insides, and there's an endless void inside of me, and someone keeps punching me so I double up, but the fists don't stop- and then a moment of bliss, and it all starts over. A modern-day Prometheus trapped in the confines of my own mind.
The whole world's turned bellicose, and I don't even bother avoiding the shrapnels; could any physically inflicted pain hurt more than the storm inside of me? The only certain thing in my life went to ruins; turned to pieces so suddenly, without the slightest effort. And I think, were we really so brittle? If the backbone of my existence crushed so easily, what is there to say about the rest of my life? My strongest belief was shattered, and thus, all my other beliefs turned out to be evanescent.
I sometimes wish one of us had died. In this way, I would have someone, something external to blame, someone else rather than myself, rather than you, to hold responsible for what happened. Someone else, something else to be angry at for taking you away from me. Because now I am left with bitter disappointment at humanity's inability to preserve something so innocent and rare as the love we shared. But we're both alive, aren't we? Forced to exist separately, forced to breathe on our, and to build our castles in the clouds by ourselves, because when you break china dolls and crystal glasses, you don't put them back together. You just stand there with your hands bleeding from trying to pick up the pieces.
