When the darkness still lingers over the rooftops of the old houses, I can cover the entire sun with my hand. I feel happily empty and powerful knowing that I can erase all the light from my word, even when it so eagerly insists on reaching through to my heart. The little rays of warmth manage to slip through the cracks between my fingers, dancing and bouncing like heavenly dust mites in nearly invisible plasmic rainbow kaleidoscopes and making my hand shimmer like a piece of hot metal. I feel so powerful in those last few moments before the world fully awakens. When the wet air still smells like dead leaves and new dew, when the trees are still looming giants cloaked in shadows, and the scars upon the wounded earth feel so far away and so easy forgotten. As the time inches closer to reality the sun swells and I can no longer cover it with my hand: it’s nice to know that the darkness always goes away.
Sometimes my mind takes me to the ocean. The rhythm of the gentle waves, the tireless tides, and the way in which the rippling surface seems to glitter when it swallows up the sun are secrets buried deep within the enormous depths of that mysterious creature. I swear I can hear it breathing as it softly pulls on my ankles, embracing me with comforting numbness, as it calls for me to join it in its infinite continuity. The ocean is a living being humbled by the weight of time and wisdom, burdened by a purpose we will never understand. Sometimes I am drawn to its tantalizing vastness and stillness, and, if it were not for the corpses of steel and cement peeking from the corners of the horizon, I would forget everything and walk straight into that euphoric oblivion. But all I can do is walk the perimeter of its edges, pretending I as if I understand the meaning of peace and hoping that enough salt has settled within the folds of my skin so that I have enough memories to last me through the winter. Winter just keep on getting longer and longer each year. Maybe I should stop blocking out the sun.
I learned to find comfort in how those big, corporate supermarkets are arranged in a way so that we all mindlessly travel down the same, all-encompassing loop. Even the vegans have to endure the meats and cheese, and the recovering alcoholics have to remember a past they have tried so hard to subdue, but that gives all of us something to think about. The beeps of the scanning machine at the check-out almost make me feel needed. The coupons I get at the end of the ceremony almost make me feel loved. Being told to have a good day makes me think that today everything will be different.
“Do you think the chlorine in swimming pools cares about us?”
It’s strange how everything seems to move slower when it rains: as if the gentle patter of raindrops washes away all the layers of false pretension we built around ourselves and forces us to just simply be. It’s strange how melancholy the entire world becomes when trees erupt in flames before they die. I wish endings were always so beautiful and fleeting. Maybe, then, we wouldn’t all be so afraid of dying. Walking through the shriveling, breathtaking leaves in the morning and listening to their somber and certain crunch, I sometimes forget what it means to be human. It’s an empty and peaceful feeling I’ve drowned in too many times.
“Good morning, dear. How are your children doing? Adjusting well, I hope?”
But I walk dreamily along.
I wish things could have been different.
Originally published on The Literati Mafia.