I could see it. Playing with you lifeless body. Burning it with its fingers. This rhythm that somehow made your flash move in spasms. I didn’t focus in anything but your face but I knew you were not alone. You were piled with other bodies. Naked. Bones were visible in places and no one cared. But me. Just those paced spasms. Like a heartbeat. Like that finger was giving you not life but death. Like that beat proved your death. Every time it touched your face it became darker with a smell. And I couldn’t escape this vision. Your once smooth skin was now being played just so I could be totally sure you were not there anymore. And all those bodies above you were moving like an animal. Beat after beat. The darker you all got. Blackness spread all over that heap of bodies. But I could only see you. And how much I already missed you.
He waits for you during the night. Trapped on his last tree. The one where the sun will eventually erase him. And no one will remember the bird who waited for you on a cut tree. So go and find him. Find all his darkness before it is too late. Before you cannot find anything but a blinding whiteness. Your eyes will then get hurt by all that noise. And you will wish it was dark once again. Because deep inside you know that you are a night person. And its colour will forever be your confort. So follow his song. The one you clearly recognize everytime you wake up in the middle of the night. And go. Just go find your black bird and dance. Dance like you are the crazy one and you mean it. Dance till your black bird on a cut tree cannot sing anymore. Fulfilled by your delivery. Your joy. And then go catch him and bite his head off. Swallow it without thinking and go back to bed. When the sun rises once again and you are obliged to face it simply show him your black peack. He will never reach out for you again. And you will be once again the master of yourself and all your loneliness.
I believe if there’s any kind of God it wouldn’t be in any of us, not you or me but just this little space in between. If there’s any kind of magic in this world it must be in the attempt of understanding someone sharing something. I know, it’s almost impossible to succeed but who cares really? The answer must be in the attempt.
[Celine in Before Sunrise]
It can be hard to tell those words. Sometimes it might be dangerous too. And the world seems to deteriorate beside us. And we risk to mingle with it and perish. And so we write it down. Like having a point. Like showing proof. Like a confession. And we do not understand how that fragile us. Because Love doesn’t have a point. It doesn’t prove anything. And it surely doesn’t need a confession. Because Love is. And Love will. Be all. It takes. To be.
Sometimes. But only sometimes. Don’t let them fool you with words of self-importance that only feed your ego. Because loneliness can be indeed a blessing but only if you have someone waiting for you at home.
(photograph source: Flickr)
I can already see you. There’s no denying . You seem so clear to me now. I still cannot believe how I did not see you before. Because you are right in front of me. No hiding. Nothing but you. Evident. And clear.
They keep coming. And confronting me with their perfect stories. When they finish I’ll have nothing to say. Nothing to add. Just that notion you have when your distant memories are about to be forgotten. And you do nothing but watch them go. Hopeless.