LE DÉBUT.
Three decades later and there is a strange serenity in the air. Perhaps this is the calm before the storm, the ebb before the flow, the waning of the moon. I still bite my tongue in an attempt to quell the blood boiling within my veins when nothing is as perfect as I can imagine it. I still dare myself with the challenge to keep my secrets safe. I never used to believe in keeping secrets, and perhaps that still remains true, but sometimes the shame of my own recurring woes gets overwhelming and I can't bear the thought of being a burden. I am guilty of disguising my disgrace as drollness, perhaps it's often easier to make a joke of one's misfortune rather than confess that you care too much. When there was no way to confirm the acknowledgment of a transmission or trace the timestamps of your interactions - was that medieval love? It might be archaic but I wish I could elect a love stripped bare of read receipts, twin (plus some) ticks in between comebacks and beaucoup conversations giddy as if you are one too many red wines deep but you are not even.In contrast, I foolishly urge myself towards an idyllic solitude, if such a thing exists. I move through moments of placing a lone wolf atop a pedestal and imagine myself as a superextraordinary superhuman unencumbered by mortal demands and desires. Sometimes all the memories, great and grand and small but significant, flood back in succession and I wish I never knew anybody or anyone ever so that nothing had to matter so much that it seemed like everything all at once.
And at the end of the day, I don't know what lesson I have learned here, other than the art of perseverance and patience in combination with the essence of empathy and sometimes even a touch of indifference. I wish some things didn't seem so important. Some sentiments seem like they're balanced at the end of the world, they're feelings so magnificent it feels like life or death.
LA FIN.
DEAR UNIVERSE,
RIGHT NOW, I FEEL LIKE A PRODUCT OF PERSUASION. ONCE UPON A TIME I WAS THE SPIRIT BIRD IMPELLING THE LIFELESS TO LIVE BUT TODAY, IN THIS INSTANT, I FEEL VOID OF INSPIRATION. THE VAST DEPTH OF THE OCEAN, THE RIPPLE EFFECT, THE IMPACT OF MISJUDGEMENT, THE TRANSIENT CHAGRIN THAT IS SIMULTANEOUSLY INFINITE: SOMETIMES I WONDER HOW IMBALANCED I MAY HAVE BEEN AT SOME POINT IN THIS LIFE OR IN THE PAST, TO BE ON SUCH A CONSISTENT COURSE OF DESCENT.
TO LIVE FOREVER IN THE WAITING, TO FOREVER HOLD ON TO INTANGIBLE HOPE AND TRUST THE TIMING OF LIFE, DO YOU PINKY SWEAR THAT ONE DAY IT'LL ALL BE WORTH IT? I DREAM OF A SINGLE MOMENT OF CLARITY, A BRIEF INTERMISSION WHEN THE SECOND-HAND STOPS AND I REALISE THAT THIS IS THE LIFE I ONCE PRAYED FOR, I DREAM OF A DREAM COME TRUE.
THE SINGLE THING I AM CERTAIN OF IN THIS UNPREDICTABLE EXISTENCE, I HAVE BEEN BLESSED AS A RARA AVIS; A WONDER, A RARE BIRD, AN ANOMALY. FOR EVERY METAPHORICAL MINUTE IN THE GUTTER, FOR EVERY HEARTACHE OVER EVERY LOSS, EVEN WHEN I THINK I COULDN'T POSSIBLY COPE WITH ANOTHER:
I AM THE SUNSHINE.
DEAR UNIVERSE, FUCK YOU.
Yours sin-cereal-ly,
A.
