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By Ali Date: 2007 Nov 12 Comment on this Work [[2007.11.12.14.46.28810]] |
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I see you, only to see that I've lost you. Lost you...that's not quite right. You're not a pair of keys, or that damn left sock I seem to be, perpetually, losing. It would also imply some sort of negligence on my part, which certainly isn't the case. You've gone, though--haven't you? Slipped out the backdoor, off into someone else's night. Oh, I was quite the fool, I know. I've always had the strangest amount of faith in you, though. I can't say I regret any of it, really--only this prevailing mystery, this set stage of conflicting emotions. I forgive you, and then I don't. Only I do, even against the gritted teeth of my semi-logical brain. You don't deserve it, but you've got it, anyway. Despite all evidence to the contrary, despite every relic that resembles reason. It's just another clue, right? Proof that I'm crazy, or just plain reckless. I choose this method of ill-behaved insanity simply because it chooses me. Or so I tell myself, when I think no one's watching. But someone's always watching, aren't they? You would know that better than anyone else. Occasionally, I question my own motivations, interrogating the dark underneath this veil of twisting shadows. I can see quite well with my eyes half-open, thank you. I'd rather be underestimated; it keeps the world on its feet. But how's your world? Can you even see it, or are you too busy rearranging fate, so that the portrait might look a little better? A little neater. But you can't rearrange your heart, my dear. You'll find the truth in that, someday, mixed in the fire, molded in the ashes. It is something that breathes of its own accord; a phoenix you can't stifle or steal. You'll understand that, when you begin to understand yourself. In my way, and not yours. I'm leaving again--in my own peculiar fashion. And even if you were inclined, upon this spinning symbolic stage, you can't follow me. Not here, not amongst this stilted song of your own vague existence; your present nepenthe-laden condition would swallow too much, more than it already has. You'll never find the sins I've left as signs, carved out in every syllable I ever spoke. Not unless you face reality, exhuming your own heart in the process. Your smile has been too quiet, quiet like crickets--a sound that can't be seen. And it's not enough, now. Maybe it never was. So, it's time that I disappear, manifest myself in this shifting premise of promise. You cannot follow, even if I wish you would. |