2024 Author: Harry Day | [email protected]. Last modified: 2023-12-17 15:43
There is a fence behind the fence.
How to describe the movement of the soul, elusive?
How much you can say if you hear the voice of another, how few words will then remain on the edge of your mind. You and I, like two frozen moments of someone else's life, touch strokes our dreams, neon tenderness spreads with moisture around the interweaving of our souls. There is no me behind me, my trail has cooled down, and a flock of memories rushed into the distance, I go to you, losing with every step what I wanted to bring, and now, empty, I stand next to you, two voids, two ideas greedy for meaning, which are not destined be together. And no matter how much there is around us, know that this emptiness is always in me, and you, a bright ray of darkness filled with hope, in this kingdom of sparkles. Can we trust this strange urge to be, can we allow ourselves to believe in our freedom next to each other, is it really possible to meet you, be there, and do nothing in return? What's your answer, my galactic black abyss knight? Can you stand my blind, inviolable acceptance of your otherness?
Sitting next to you, I begin to feel who I am, without touching your soul, I see mine, we are close and incredibly far from each other, as if we are standing with our backs to each other and look into each other's eyes through the billions of glances circling our face. What is the name of the look when you are not looking? I know that sometimes I am incomprehensible to myself, but that is why you are valuable to me, that you understand that I do not understand something in myself, you are like a stone mind, carved with your own hands, standing in front of the mirror of infinity, peering into your distance souls, seeing there casts of previous architects. You are incredibly dear to me. My color and my hunger, bright scarlet, with hints of white, with black shadows, I burn and illuminate my way forward, you say that firewood cannot be a locomotive, yes, there is definitely something in this.
When you are not there, next to me is the figure of emptiness, filled with the idea of your existence. My idea, your idea, an idea about us, whether a miracle wants to fill the space today or the fog will float over my rough cheek again. I am always amazed at this opportunity to immerse myself in something that does not exist, I just can not get used to the idea that all this is not there, because everything is so real, I sit, you sit opposite, and we float in the endless ocean of time and space surrounded by the myth of our existence, seeing with my own eyes the irreplaceable loss of the personal in the face of the common, how, after all, I so clearly feel it all? Why am I forced to settle for emptiness, why am I forced to live alone, knowing that you really are? Tell me why do I need all this?
But you are silent, you guard my soul with your omnipresent silence, and only the sparkle of your eyes and a wave floating in your pupils, my pulse of a vanishing universe, your meaning drowned in me, a relationship on the edge of two abysses at the depth of one unreal dream.
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