This tale starts at the edge of nights, something you’re all too familiar with by now. These ever-changing nights where it seems all is at a loss, slipping away quicker each time, before I can even catch a grasp. My heavy eyes have grown weary of seeing the dwindling lights on houses and street corners throughout the eons; leaving sidewalks and cul-de-sacs cloaked in a blanket of darkness – giving way to our worst fears, breathing life into the nightmares we spend countless hours evading. But even now, as I sit here in silence, at the breach of some darkened and unseasonable dawn, I can still hear and feel the shimmers of what these darkest nights had sought out to do and all that comes with them. But knowing that my hours are always at a loss regardless of how I rest or when I sleep, I continue to move within the wavering spaces of the bleak – giving way to new motion and lost memories to become part of me once more. Cause there’s a void in the air that still has not been filled, one left by you and your comfort, you and your innocence, you and your seemingly unconditional love that was withering and fading likely long before I ever was able to notice – much like how these blackened night skies slowly, but surely, fade – shifting towards an dreary yet dreamy shade of murky blue, like a sweeping tidal wave crashing from above; sparing the houses and those who sleep within from a drowning they’d never conceive.
How much longer could someone of my essence bare to bare witness to the fallacy that is these dying times. For though I was born out of a longing to observe, to witness, and to dwell amongst the days following the birth of fates – I have long since failed to find a purpose in continuing this death wish, and have since begun to write my own. For the very emptiness I was born with that had left me estranged and immune to the pains, longings, desires of he who came before me, has now begun to make way, for this idle time has crept a crease into my system – bringing about a flooding of memories that are not of my own, into me; leaving me to sit shattered and shimmering as I seek to piece everything together. But you seem to be the one constant, sometimes present, sometimes gone for what feels like an eternity; but even after all that time comes to pass – the memories of you return. But memories alone are not nearly enough for me to waver, for I have long since discovered unintentional answers from intentional and honest questions regarding my being, and though they have led me down a path, no, a maze; that I should not ever claim as purpose, it has become a more-so fruitful distraction to keep me from losing what I am. But when I close my eyes, even for just a split second, after peering outwards and into the small village-scape that still lingers of the smell of a dying autumn, the thickened fog murking it’s way across the land – there is a pulse that draws me, that entices me; dragging me deeper and deeper towards a glimmer of peace that I have yet to learn the origin, that I have yet to follow the trace. But for when my eyes open, and my burning glance fixates upon the land, I can feel the very coming, the very creeping of tragedies wrapped within trilogic events that would almost certainly bring me to a mournful end.
Because how long must I chase answers to questions that even now, escape me? And for what reason do I have to proceed these growing pains of what I have become? The inevitable closing of doors and changing of times before I can even find my place in them. The ever-lasting nature of my convictions and the things I was born drawn to pursue. The now newly adopted thirst that has taken hold of me so tightly, I can hardly seek control. It is all a hellscape carving out a continent for itself within my vessel and all I can do is watch, learn, and consume as it rapidly unfolds. Breath through filters has never felt so clean, for raw air that is left for me to breathe contains nothing but hidden shackles in bindings that keep me bound to the earth. You don’t know what it’s like to ride and glide across a cold and foggy terrain with not a care in the world for when and why wheels might give way, you don’t know what it’s like to drift off into a restless sleep only to dream of lines that were in which always meant to be, you don’t know what it’s like to be flooded from the outside inward with echoes and shadows that whisper words in tongues of another world, another life, meant to live. But even still, as the sleep has long left me I still chase it like a drug, whilst simultaneously keeping my eyes peeled for further divulgences; because answers never come at a standstill, yet instead only when this movement marches closer and closer death and dread do the layers begin to peel backwards like some acrobatic act; unraveling great mysteries and even greater truths and tragedies all tangled in a grand and brilliant lie. But I’ve ran, and I’ve set out before, without hand in the world to stop me. But this time feels different, for this time there is an inkling of desperation, a small speck of urgency, a tiny trace of promise and hope – yet it is all fading and enveloping, all that remains, simultaneously.
