The light used to shine gently, like a soft and heartfelt touch of the hand gliding for a fleeting moment across a cheek. It was welcoming, it was invigorating with it’s warm embrace. It knew not of a time of war and strife, of conflicting sides and beckoning destinies, of tired eyes and sleepless nights. It only knew of the secrets and whispers that were carried in the winds. Words so brief, but of bright and shimmering futures where Advents were left to be born anew and slates were cleansed to serve a higher purpose. That light, during that time, was a reminder of the path once taken, was a reminder of all that was left to love. I can still see that untouched and unharmed sun die in the palms of the blooming city; it’s rays spilling like blood across the frigid autumn skies, the weight of it all completely ignorant to the darkness would bring and what that darkness would become. During those day’s, the pain and longings grew stronger with each passing day – and to a point of acceptance, that’s how I yearned for it to stay. Like a dream within a nightmare, what would follow these arrivals was nothing but fates of my own design.
But during these hours, as this violent follows, rests, and repeats – I hold no mercy for the light it wishes to bestow. Cold blooded, and I wish for my environment to compliment. I have seen the death of plains that once led to those Afternoons. Plains that have long since been lit up in flames and consumed by war, and war consumed by the darkness which now precedes the sense of void I feel await these fruition of fates. The remembrance of it all once held significance, but now that very significance has begun to become drowned out, snuffed out, it is fading and becoming undone – much like the makeup of this reality that desperately continues to cradle all that still remains. But it is futile, for unlike the fleeting moments where pains and longings grew stronger with each passing moment; here, in this fractured sense of time, there is nothing left to love, nothing left to cling to, nothing left to call our own that will not otherwise soon be taken during the unraveling of the fabric. I have seen the eyes turn from the skies since those times, I have seen witnessed held as one come undone since those moments, I’ve felt hearts stop, never to move again since those day’s, I’ve learned that everything is fleeting and nothing will stay since becoming what I’ve become. For while arrivals of a past afternoon era may reverberate in my head, an arrival of a much darker era begins to settle in now. For as the blade is drawn towards this sun that is sure to set and die, I can at least put to rest my worries, in confidence and knowledge, that what proceed this will have been of my own making.
