The rain was falling steadily with the sound of television snow on the metal roof above. And just like an old TV show, the outside seemed to be fading. Yesterday was a bright morning of spring. It had all the aspects, the songs of the birds, the way that gentle sunlight would play through the leaves above, and this quiet feeling of belonging in such a beautiful picture. Today, by contrast, seems to be almost night. I find myself standing exactly where I was yesterday, but this... This is a different place. All the surroundings seem like shadows, fading into the mist of a dream, fading into television snow. Was it all a dream? Could this be the truth of all I have ever seen? Of everyone I've ever met? Of everyone I have ever loved? No. To accept such a premise would be to invite madness, and I can already feel myself slipping away. I can not accept this, and I can never let go, even if it burns me so. I am standing in the same place, but this is a different time. I am in a quiet place of voices long fallen silent. There is no sound but the drumbeat of my heart and this television snow. "But rain can be beautiful, too." Yes, you always said so. Am I remembering, or am I actually hearing your voice? It's hard to tell in this background, but this seems so far beyond my own thoughts, and as if you had heard them. Ah, but you're right, of course, as you often were about so many other things. The rain is indeed beautiful, especially the sound. Even pain seems to fade into his television snow. There have been days when I wished that I too could fade into that sound. And as I sit here in this moment of so many moments after, I realize the rest truly is silence. I have nowhere to go and nothing to do but to stay right here with the mesmerizing sound of this falling rain. I may have even been on the edge of sleep just now.. It would explain a great many things. The first being my own eyes, and how you can be, despite all I know to the contrary, here in this room with me. A mind on the edge of sleep can hallucinate. So can a heart on the verge of starvation. Yet, as I press a hand to my chest to still find a beating heart, I realize that despite a thousand wishes, both could never be true without somehow stepping through time. And time, what can I even say about it? Time can take away people, places, and things. But it left this place. It left the things. It would seem I am a relic among relics and this television snow is my only company. I think of Poe imploring question upon question when he already knew the answer that raven would give. He had to know. He had to have known long before a feather had fluttered that his beloved lost and rare Lenore was never to return. What time takes, never returns. Was this dreary man such a glutton for pain? Am I as well? I wonder as this mind wanders. Are there certain things we absolutely must know, no matter how those answers may hurt us? Whatever happened to the bliss of ignorance? To the peace of innocence? Must we rip off that proverbial bandage and scream at the intensity of truth? Must all be laid bare before us? Why can't we just pretend just a little while longer? Yes, the rain is beautiful. Did I once tell you how I loved the sound? Remember how you and I would just sit and watch the rain for hours, rarely a word spoken between us? Your presence was all that mattered. Besides, you knew my thoughts, even when I didn't speak them aloud. And now... And here... I find myself again in this place, yet the time is all wrong. Would you still know my thoughts even now? I wonder as I wander out into the rain. It is indeed beautiful, but it's a bit cold, like the cold ground beneath my bare feet, like the coldness of time, harsh like the words I never wanted to hear, almost as painful as the truth I never wanted to face. Cold earth, destiny. Is it truly impossible to evade, avoid? Has any mortal human being ever transcended such dire chances? I wonder, and still I wander. One foot unconsciously places itself in front of the other and the blurry scenery slowly changes before my eyes. I don't really know or care where I'm going. My world was and shall always be in my head. Maybe it's the only place I ever belonged, the only place I truly had the peace of never having to seek understanding, such a rare thing since... Well... You. Once upon a time there was confiding without need of explanation. Maybe that's why it was so easy to talk to you. There was so much I could have never articulated, yet you totally got it. The truth of everything was in between the words. And now? It is between my steps in this rain. It's really coming down now. Could I be fading into it like the scenery around me? Let's not be silly. I have never faded. I am still here as I always have been. It is not I who fades. It just seems to be others, people I love. They fade, yet I remain. If we don't ask for eternity to include those around us, then eternity loses its appeal. To me the worst hell of all would be to live forever when nobody else will. It would be a misery to be a god watching creation after creation, love after love, disappearing before divine eyes. Could you imagine such a lonely Heaven? Such a dreadful Hell? I wouldn't even try. That would be an image that would burn me to my very core. It would be all consuming. Yet, would I fade? Now, that is the question. A loud clap of thunder jolts me from my thoughts. Where the hell am I? More importantly, what the hell am I doing? What possessed me to just walk away from perfectly good shelter to find myself out in this storm? It's ironic, really. What? You might ask. How a few bolts of lightening can still bring out such fear in me. I say again and again how I am not afraid anymore, and then I panic anyway. Don't you find this a bit odd? I suppose it is only natural to fear the end. It's basic survival for any living creature. Though few will ever know the greater fear of there being no end in sight, no end at all. Imagine it. Lines and shadows blur. So do the days. And survival is just going through the motions. To fear death is natural. But to fear eternity is something many would consider to be insane. But, think about it, really think about it. Think about the morning after, think about three centuries on, think about stars going nova and protons breaking down. And especially consider the day after the very last day that meant anything at all. Does it still not frighten you? Because it scares the hell out of me. "But the rain can be beautiful, too". Yes it is, as was your voice, as were your hopes and dreams, as were your plans for the future. But the rain is cold, as cold as the earth, as cold as the universe, as cold as your absence has been since the day you became one with it all. The lightening as left me with afterimages and the thunder has left this ringing in my ears, and you are not here, you are not here. I want to go back home, but I seem to be a bit lost. It looks like the right place, but it is the wrong time. And time? Time will never be right again. Time is fire. Time consumes, burns both heart and soul. Rain can be beautiful, that very sound like a song that eases it all, but this rain can never quench the fire of time. I have walked for miles in this storm, but time still burns. It seems that time can never die, yet rain always ends eventually. And it seems I always must wake up to face those sunny days. The rain can be beautiful too, mainly because it makes me think of you, of those carefree days, of those happily spent hours. And that is the peace I must glean from days like these.
Seeing Myself In The Stars
Is it not strange how I can look up at the stars at night and simply admire their beauty? Funny how my heart does not break that I can never bask in their light, that I could never touch them, that they could never touch me. Strange indeed that this cold, dark, and empty field that surrounds me neither chills my spirit nor darkens my hopes. Stranger still that I can look up at a mostly empty sky with a heart that remains full. Why can't everything be like this? Why can't the very fire of passion burn within our core? Why can't we all be the stars? How can we be so far away, yet still made of those very ashes? How can we be so far? Worlds begin and worlds have long ago ended in that dark expanse. Still, there is light in the void. It is not only light I can see, but warmth I can feel. It almost speaks to me, whispers the very edges of eternity, just beyond words, just beyond the grasp of this fleeting being, not quite understanding, but hearing, feeling, seeing. And if I could walk upon that beam of light, such a step would begin a journey beyond all I could have ever hoped for. I could again believe in forever, of soft light, of comfort, of suns never setting, of days never ending, of souls never leaving, of time never taking, and of coming home again, yet realizing I never left at all. If I could paint with words, each and every point of light I see above me, maybe this would be the way.
No comments:
Post a Comment