Our hands are empty in times like these, the emptiness itself both breathes and exhales the memories of when this all came to be, memories of when the seat had first presented itself – memories from when the door was open. This was all born from tragedy, born from hands of fate that ripped away the fabric of the hopes and dreams that we once held, the futures that we once one day hoped to face. As a collective, we have seen ourselves return here time and time again; an explosion at the edge of time, a fragile moment witnessing the birth of one, but a death of another, with little to no influence on what follows. Much like how I feel now, with the very foundation of this cyclic nature binding me at the ankles, it’s very essence wrapping around my wrists. The way of this force seeks to strangle and subdue, it knows not of the concepts of right and wrong, good and evil, dark and light – it simply does as it desires, does what it is drawn to do; and now I can begin to see the parallels.
But the way this has bound me so, across various moments within this fragile time are now coming to an end, for the seat desires a new outcome, and I desire yet a new experience. I can feel the staleness of this exhausted and tired reality begin to creep in past this mask, past this demeanor, and throughout this place while I am strapped to this vessel. It is a freeing feeling in a sense, but one of tragic echoes and reek of reverberations to the highest degree. Reverberations so powerful, they seek to set off sleep patterns, fates, and bindings of their own – all at once. I can feel the moments fleeting with every action I take whilst bounded to this fate, I can feel the cyclic nature re-occurring hoping to set off this madness once more, settings things back to the way they were, back to a state where longing is all I know.
In these moments where every ounce of light that shines is cherished and praised like gods greatest gift, are the very moments where various types of nature creep within the crevices of the dying light, creep within the lines that proceed the inevitable night. And even though my heart is cold and my mind is made-up, the very fleeting moments and their final wishes speak giving what remains of the sun and it’s dying love and embrace, the comfort it deserves before it dissolves, the comfort I had always longed for, the comfort that was washed away within the depths of turbulent seas. Because unlike the time that existed before final fates were bestowed, and much like the moments before your sun fell – I can no longer foresee the future. The preservation of life, no longer present in these bones, the desire to glance at outcomes at my behest, no longer a possibility whilst strapped within the seat. For all I can see now while glancing into the beyond is the twilight orange that violently bleeds, screaming with it’s cold blank stare that should petrify me into deeper sleeps than I could ever imagine, and the death of a sun that precedes these moments. But in this moment, in this fragile place in space time, the love still remains, and though it may flee and fade along with the sun – it can still be spent in a way to break through this nature ultimately leading us all towards something new.
