Copyright © 2010 Howlyn KEFTS
I look sadly outside. The landscape is flashing by and so is my life. The moonlight lulls the world to pale dreams, the whole world, apart from me. I'm wide awake. Drowned into the flow of questions that assails my mind, I'm so tired that I don't even try to swim against it. The more we pass the trees, the more I'd like to yell. After all, is it worth coming back there? I'm not sure anymore. To be honest, I'm not sure of anything anymore. That kind of questioning episodes happened to me in the past, you know, when you think about how you want to live your life or who you really want to be. We often think we know that kind of things, but this is only until some events or persons turn your life, your mind or your heart upside down. We simply can't know for sure because only a part of our life is under our own control. And not the biggest part I think. I wish my consciousness was like these frozen streams outside the window. Everything is rooted in frost and ice in a restful stillness, under the comforting beams of the moon. The wind breathes sweets songs in whispers barely audible. I would like to plunge my entire being in this white ocean to capture the feelings it provokes in me and imprison it jealously in my mind.
Before I came here, I had often dreamed of an unknown elsewhere like this one, like this land, still full of mysteries to me. Before I came here, I had felt like life was elsewhere. And now that I was leaving that place, I felt like an explorer forced to give up a golden age after having overcome so much to find it.
Nobody was waiting for me back there. I sigh. Something wet brushes my cheek before falling on the envelope laid on my knees. Should I open it? It reminds me of the Jar of Pandora. Maybe the better would be to leave it sealed after all. I closed my eyes, hoping the face I dearly wanted to see would appear before me. It did. The memory was recent enough to picture the very details of it. If only I could stamp it in my mind forever… :
"So, you're going then … it's actually over … "
I had just swallowed the words back: no, it's not. At least I did not want it to be but I did not tell it. Saying goodbye was already painful enough without expressing my feelings in addition. I knew that if I had allowed them to gush out of my heart, it would have been even worse. I hate bidding farewell. Even the word should not exist. The remembrance of this moment, the last embrace, the warmth of his arms around me, the last kiss, the stroke of his lips, the last stare, the affection in his eyes, all this make me smile a wet smile. Opening the letter was too appealing though and anyway, despair had already wrapped me in its coldest darkness so there was no way the situation could be worse.
I tear the paper and all the words it contains flow in the air, with a treacherous softness to reach my heart and wound it all the better.
You are still here and yet, I can feel that every single second is tearing you away from me. My love, from the day you first passed my seat in this room, I knew I would be yours for ever, and that even if you would not be mine. You cannot imagine, as I could not even have either, how much deeper my affection to you appeared to be since you declared your feelings for me. I did not even think that such a thing would be possible. I am well aware that you will worry about my agonies once we will be apart from each other, but there is something I want you to know: I would rather miss you than never kiss you. Because you are the person most worthy feeling sad for in my life, I am willingly ready to endure every sufferings. From the very beginning, knowing you have been a delight that became each time sweetest to me. From the very beginning, it has been stronger than me, you've featured prominently in my mind and I cannot help thinking about you. More than that, I can think of nothing but you and I do not want it to stop. As crazy as it might sound, it makes me happy. Even at nights, you haunt my mind and, dream after dream, I wait impatiently for the shape of your face to appear. Once vanished, I miss it all the more. But among all the things I will miss , I think the worst will be your voice.
You singing me to sleep is the sweetest memory ever. I am aware of your insomniac inclinations so please, will you promise me to sleep properly? By properly, I mean healthily. It makes me suffer if you are not well, so do your best to live a life. I will do it for you as well no matter how hard it will be. I'm not the kind of guy to wish time away... and I am not going to... I'm not going to dwell on what I'm about to say over the next couple of weeks, and I am not going to bother you about it every now and then. I shan't bombard you with letters and blunt any impact. But I am already proper itching to see you again. I am just really looking forward to you getting back. It seems to me that time laughs at us but he will be tricked by his own game. He cannot break the cycles. Have you ever seen a year without its spring? That's why I am longing to see the rosebush flowered again.
Your affectionate lover.
Right now, the rosebush exudes sufferings. It seems to me that from the rose, only the thorns remain. Their sharp points dig big holes in my chest and make my breathless heart choke. I would be so glad if only I could sleep. Maybe I'd wake up without memories, for a chance to live again, for a chance to get over all this, or even for a chance to discover once again what I would not see anymore. Impossible. Leaving behind this glimpse of what life could have been, let it wither, powerless, is the hardest thing I have had to do since I came to this world.
If there is something I have learned, it is that people are hard to forget once they have soaked your skin to the bones. That's why I used to protect myself from any form of attachment, all the more in that kind of relationship, for I thought it was nonsense. But now that his flag is well put in there, deep, in the core of my heart, what can I do? What's the point of spending my life to be careful instead of simply being careful about living? I was wrong. Terribly wrong, that's true. You can't control everything, especially not feelings. These are traitors. I did not see it coming, far from it I should say.
The weight of his words crushes me but I read the letter again, be it only to listen to his voice that I swear I could hear in the black ink. I wish the wind sang me to sleep to join him in his dreams. I wish the moon lulled me to dreams that would make him exist. I wish I would never wake up but sink into the mirage of a life together rather than live a life of mirage in the emptiness of reality. Because life is elsewhere. I know it now. But trapped in misery, trying to swim in this ocean of sufferings, my senses tell me that these are wasted efforts. My heart is drowning in the dark mud of despair and I'm tired of trying to keep it out. I would like to give up. I want to sleep now. Forever. From there, I would contemplate gladly what I gave him of my life … but I made a promise. However hard it is going to be, I have to live a life, even a miserable one.
I look sadly outside the window. The landscape is still flashing by and so is my life. The stars watch over the dreamers, each and every of them, apart from me. I'm still awake. Trapped in the hands of a desperate poet, I have no control over my fate. All along this long journey, the more my love persists, the more pain is increased. There is nothing I can do. So there I am, ready to endure everything for the mere idea of a smile that could make me exist, at last. Everything lies still under a white blanket, undisturbed by the sparkling of ice under the moonlight, regardless. I'm freezing to death though I used to envy their peace. But I had made a promise. Hence now, I am craving to burn all the more to the inferno I had once known. I would like to give my entire being up to the inflamed hearth to imprison jealously the passion it created in my heart.
Before I came back, I knew life would turn into a nightmare and never be the same anymore. It was nothing else but a mere illusion of life where I was surviving in dreams of hope. Now that I was stuck there, I felt like a prisoner longing to be released from the realm of his fantasies. Someone was waiting for me, somewhere. The tears I feel rolling on my cheeks remind me that I am alive and so does this envelope laid on my knees. Should I open it? Of course. These letters are the last threads that connect me to reality. I tear the paper and all the words contained flow freely to my heart in a wasted attempt to fill the missing parts.
You've been away for a while now though I constantly bear you in my heart. Writing somehow soothes my soul from the sores you left behind. But it never lasts. I know I promised to live for you and so I am, really trying, but the only thing I prove able to is to pretend. The results are illusory. My life started the day I first saw you and you took it back when you left. There is no way it could be back without you, I am afraid. You have absorbed everything that belonged to me, my heart coming first. Without you, I cannot breathe and in agony I do writhe. I am a wandering navigator who has lost his guiding star, alone, on a drifting boat. Sometimes I wish there was something, apart from pain, that could remind me you were real, my miracle. Sometimes, it is as if I had awaken from a sweet dream as soon as you were gone. Only despair cries me to sleep these days and the same nightmare starts every time I wake up. The boundaries between dreams and reality are confuse to me now, and if all this was really a dream I would rather never wake up and dream to death than spend my sleepless nights in a nightmarish reality. I should not be telling you all this but you would not believe me if I said everything is alright. I would not believe it from you either. As you know, I am not the kind of guy to wish time away but I feel as if too much of it has been wasted before you left. I wish I had spent every single second with you, just resting on your breast, watching the sky above us and realise how fantastic it is to see it, feeling you soft skin under my cheek, listening to the murmur of the air filling your lungs and be aware of how good breathing is, become aware of what we never think about.
Indeed, I have wasted time. Nobody can even imagine how much I wish you happy, and making tales of my torments makes me shameful, for it proves my love to be selfish. I fear every second apart from you, I cannot be happy that way, and for this reason, I think I am selfish. Maybe you would have been happier if you had never met me. Maybe you would be happier if I gave up. Or maybe … well, will your heart never beat for anyone but me? Tell me, will it? Because if you think it could be possible, then I would step aside, I would move away from your life if you so wished. I would never bother you again, no matter if it killed me. I would sacrifice my entire being for you to live a life. I care too much for you to bear being an obstacle to your happiness. And if so I am, then I hate myself and I'd better not be at all. If not, then I will not let time win over us. I will keep dreaming of the rosebush to be flowered again.
But the rosebush exudes sufferings. It has lost his flowers and only the thorns remain. The ink-drawn words stain my soul. The voice behind them reasons in my heart, each echo wounding it deeper. But I do hope to see the rosebush flowered again, in dream. I can see it behind my lids, thick with red petals. I can see that I am actually part of it, happy to spend what remains of my short life, in a sweet stillness, where I belong to. But it is a dream and I inevitably have to wake up. I spot the blurs caused by his tears on the paper.
There is so much misery to bear for this thin sheet. How could he ask me this? My heart would never beat for anyone but him. My heart beats for nothing but him. I would rather give up my world. Feeling trapped in another sleepless night, I wished the wind sang me to sleep. I wish I could join him in his dreams to reassure him. I would tell him to meet me up before the stairway to heaven. We would climb together and never part anymore. Impossible … Maybe one day I'd wake up without memories, but I doubt it. If there is something I have learned, it is that it does no good to dwell on dreams and forget to live. Yes, he's soaked deep into my skin and love overflows of each and every pore. This is the tragedy of the human kind: we dream an ideal, we pray it, we call it, we lie in wait for it, and the day it takes shape, we discover the fear to live it. We are scared about not being shape up for our own dreams, afraid to marry them to a reality for which we become responsible. Before, I used to think it was nonsense. I imagined I had kept my child-mind and that I would challenge everything, no matter how scary it could be. I was going to be an explorer. But I was wrong. In the end, I had chickened out before the most wonderful adventure I was offered to live in my life. When I realised this, I just hated myself: where was gone the brave young girl I used to be? Where was she, this person full of ideals who refused to give up, no matter how realistic they were? Mad. I decided to break the quill this tyrannical poet used to shatter my dreams.
He had no right to decide for me and I refused my life to be one of these stupid tragedies written to entertain or teach people. Nobody has such a right. I would leave the writer hopeless, uninspired, afraid by the paleness of the paper. There is someone waiting for me. I wipe the ink that chained me to this story and grab hold of the pen to write my own continuation. Freedom is frightening. Of course making a choice involves risks but we have nothing more to risk for our lives than our lives. And how would we realise how good it is to live without facing the hazard of life? I used to think that giving everything up out of love was stupid. But sometimes, when we have nothing really worthy to cling to, when all we are trying to held up are smoky hopes, then it is hopeless and in the end sadness becomes our day-to-day life, entangling all the more the knot of pain that will bring us to our end. Yes, I did try to fly away from him, afraid of how much the love he bore me would end up hurting, but instead, I did hurt myself. I burned my wings, making it all the more difficult to get back to him. Now, I am decided: I close my lids and get eagerly off the train in motion. I cannot wait for it will not stop for me.
I open my eyes. Light lulls the moon to bright dreams in a comforting warmth. In the middle of a wild and fantastic meadow, I am a flower on a wonderful rosebush, shining, peacefully resting under the warm sunbeams. I face the stairway to heaven I had dreamed of so many times. Something soft and sweet brushes my petals. Your hand. The stroke reaches me, after so much time. Ages later, you're still there, my gardener. Laid on this bed of greenness, I contemplate what you gave me of your life. And I feel ashamed for having been so weak, for having wasted your life, for having deprived you of it, for having been the sole object of your interest ever. I'd like to tell you how much I hate myself, how much I wish life had never thrown me on your path, how much I I wish you would be my rose to take care of you as much as you cared for keeping me alive. I am a selfish flower that gave up. I know, I had no right to let myself withered selfishly while everyday, you knelt beside me to watch me over. I have behaved as the cruel poet, writing your life down on paper, impose it on you, a powerless character who, subjected to the story, is not the protagonist of his own life anymore. Please don't cry! Pick me up and lets climb the steps. At a determined pace, lets speed up, lets the world flash by. Because so are our lives.
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