They say the beginning is always the hardest.

The prelude to a single drop’s sunken birth is stretched over ages before it reaches its dark point of liquid origin. But when it does, it desires to travel in joyful pairs, for the long and winding journey ahead is bound to be theirs.

When the moment finally arrives, two drops begin their descent. Time does not seem to exist as they playfully circle and glide around each other, both with much content. No care, no worry, nothing except the pleasure of company; a dance which seems to last forever, nothing except untouched beauty.

Inconsequential, the two lose track. A delay, unforeseen, caused by an evident yet uneventful crack. During the aftermath time does not exist, but it consumes the seconds, like a watch on a wrist. To find one another lost moments must sink into nothingness, obliterating the beautiful history of all that is.

Destined to reunite, however, the two cannot fully rejoice, because the waning surface spirals towards an inevitable choice: who will fall, and who will stay. An unbearable sight, even for the birds of prey.

They say the beginning is always the hardest.

‘’In retrospect all is better; fear not the future to come.’’

‘’Looking back it all seems like a bad joke. A joke, but still.’’

‘’The day is 1 December 1995, the day I wanted to die.’’

-2018-

Slowly I walk towards the wall. Someday, somehow, some say, we will all face him. He is not me, not like the one I imagined but instead a reflection of a fragment that has disappeared ages ago. And I know one thing for sure: long before my first and last breath, everyone is here.

A last stand… Beckoning.

A blurry scene collapses like a rose’s thorn crushed by a hammer, and it’s heaven. Fresh air breezes throughout the field like a thousand winters summoned  in a hot air balloon; one pop, and it might burst.

Instead it dies.

Blackness fades into nothingness as light bends darkness when desperateness serves greatness. A tiny yet almost invisible terrifying spot of delight. All will come true and limits are met only when reaching the neverending centre again and again.

The concentric circle.

Never have I felt this much euphoria as time feels decay; the process of giving and taking, for eternity. And never have I dreamed so much desolate fueled nightmares until tonight. A night to remember for the ages as ages tend to burn with backwards conspiracy.

A feast for the new millennium.

Tragic meets company as destiny embraces chaos when a tall figure stands opposed to a small ocean vessel. Waving fiercely, with strong arms. Screaming against the absence of light. But not tonight, not anymore. Maybe never, yet always.

The destined traveller.

Always wandering but never here as the room grows from specs to pyramids; standing great and longing connate justice. Ever towering, never to look down, yet always pondering. In spite of desire, thirst is not quenched, however the stalactite still grows slowly.

The remains.

Nothing is sacred and with the fidelity of strangeness interwoven its frontier is bubbling with the force of insecurity; the final pillar of a marble treehouse. Leaning. Never to leave, never to stay, but always here.

Forever.