I choose you, Eden

In your quest to fulfil every dream, realise every fantasy, there is an almost non existent fault. So faint, so light that for years it goes unnoticed. Unnoticed even to you. Like a cavity maliciously lurking, for years eating away the healthy, the bulging, sturdy constitution of the bleached white substance. Unseen in darkness, unchallenged by the light. Softly holding the flood of tears, seamlessly protecting the outline of a life shining from afar. The fragile thread made into a spider’s web held the unthinkable weight of disappointment like steel enforced concrete. It almost killed your soul, almost made your spirit disappear. The fault lies somewhere outside things you deem real. The crack on the surface escapes your attention. Unnoticed until you break. And you break with a shatter so thunderous it rings to the heavens, hallowing this earthly ground.  

You floated in smirks of content like a raft on the back of lazy ocean waves. At times weightless in the water, mesmerized by the world around you, swirling in the ritual dance with the salty parts of the unstoppable mass. You floated through the words like they had no weight. Unmoved but helplessly following the whimsical pattern, the timely ups and downs. At one moment high, the next so very low. Swish, swinging in the restless water, twirling with the raft the way the currents command. In a carefully constructed moment the tears appear. Unexpected, embalmed with the sun’s powerful rays, still in the windless instant, sadness is crowned princess of the heart. Now you are trapped, held captive by fear of regret stealing the role of prince. The blinding sky is cruel, but you stare into the sun, just to prove, to feel that being blistered is being alive.

Whisper words of comfort. Whisper in your lost ears the very words that have made you set sail. The words that crushed your wings just moments before. These words now guide you to shore, push your raft away from the endless sea, towards the visible shoreline. Carefully you stand, hold onto the pole of hope, let the tears fill the dents in your raft. Your eyes closed, you feel the wind on your cheeks. It is cold, unfriendly, lonely. Still, with unabashed pride you start to believe your lungs hold the secret of your coming home. Your heart navigates, your feet shuffle to find the right direction. In this composition, in this unforgettable end to a magical adventure, you become ready to conquer the fears and the unknown. You let go just barely. Just enough to arrive at something new.  

Maybe you never had the choice, but decided to choose anyway. Love may have been too much to bear, but you cloaked your frail body with the full weight of a love returned. Your lies might not catch up with you, but you will never cure your soul of the pain it caused. In your man-made haven numerous have tripped before you. Everyone you touch dies of thirst, instantly. Only one chose you, you destroyed all others. There is a distinctly visible fault in your ardency to fulfil each dream, to realise each fantasy. Rivers dry in your step, forests disappear in your path, innocent souls are crippled by your actions. If this is your Eden, then I choose to choke.

Until it gets better

Just as an unfaithful lover, a cheating partner, a homesick wanderer, a runaway with a change of heart I attempt to turn back to you. It has been days, months, maybe even years. The dark does not scare me, I charge forward unafraid of the unknown. The urgency replaces the haste and each second that holds me, keeps me from getting to you is hateful. I would break every bone running out of breath, sprinting in an effort to catch the door before it is forever shut. At times I have stayed away in silence, unseen or heard, for times that are immeasurable. Like a hermit I hid away, hummed melodies that never left my head, scribbled sentences that never showed themselves on the page. In sweet benevolence I was allowed to maintain anonymity, to never have to drag my sickly constitution into the sights of the blazing summer sun. Blisters might have surfaced. From the safety I chose to never venture, had the same words on repeat, the same beats set the daily pace. This was my life in Eden, but paradise as I know it is nothing to how you would imagine it. My soul thrives when sheltered but shrivels without the crippling daylight. I had no choice but to leave, run towards that which would pain me greatly. Pain me daily. 

Parading these talents terrifies me but I cannot do without. I wish I could keep them hidden forever, push the words under water, choke them before they could reveal how inaptly I place them one after the other. I am an impostor compared to the masters, barely visible amongst those who flaunt their mesmerizing feathers. But the words pull me from my damp cave haven. The words are not shy, they are not worried about how they have been used, what others will think, how they will be judged. The words are endlessly vain and selfish, they listen to no good advice. They allow only partial control and then I must back off, let them take what is rightly theirs. These words turn me inside out, make me swim in a sea of humiliation, plunge from the cliff of humility. Amidst all that is unfamiliar I try to survive, withstand the silence with a head held high, diminish the value of praise instantly and with resolute determination. Just as I reluctantly drag my most treasured bits out onto the blaring sun, I at once must weather the paralyzing silence or undue credit.  

This is my gift, an unbelievable gift that has been bestowed. This is not something that belongs to me, it is merely something that I have been entrusted with, in the hope that I may be a good keeper, a worthy carrier, a shell for thoughts that may be of use for others. With this sweet burden I travel and grow increasingly frustrated for there is not enough in me to make a difference. This talent is partial, it has been bestowed by mistake and the lion share rests somewhere far, with someone better than me. Forgive me, for even with this solemn realisation, I still cannot but continue to create. It will take both our times. It will make me feel worse and then better. I will be elated for moments and then thrown to the ground. I will shout for you in agony, I will call you in exuberant glee.  Some moments will see me get it right, some others will teach me the beauty in failure. I cannot but carry on and hope. Hope with all my might that these words, dubiously placed and ill formed, will still make you stop and read. That I will continue until it gets better, until it gets worth your while to read.

be brave

In these uncertain times it is easy to miss that which is crucial. Which has the ability to alter paths, which washes away barriers and borders. In these unpredictably cruel times it is by default that we cannot see that which at all other times is clearly visible. Wrapped in smoky haze we wander through our journeys dizzied from the maze. Glasses fogged up, minds boggled with confusion. We trace our steps back, stare straight ahead, hold our hopes high in front, throw our regrets far behind the road we have already travelled. The soul seldom settles, the cries of the lonely spirit echoes, pierces the heart. It is in this wondrous state that we understand how a warring, broken, elated spirit cannot ever be silenced. The words will ring loud, the thumping will break mountains in two. The notes will travel across the universe. The tears will fill reservoirs and set sail the sleepy little boats resting on unsuspecting shores. These messengers will harbour a voyage unparalleled. I am a star, waiting with a heavy anchor for a boat to reach the skies. I cannot tell where the horizon ends, I can only hear the nearing, the distinct ruffle of the sails latching onto the playful winds. I must ready myself, rust off the chains of my anchor. Pray in solitude that on the boat I await there is going to be a kind soul with a beautiful heart.

Instead mostly I fear, grow weary of the traps that lie ahead. Fear time and all of its malevolence. Fear the inevitable end and the prolonged suffering. Shudder at the thought of ridicule, grow anger into lifeless boulders that uncontrollably roll down steep hills of frustration. The wait is never kind, it is mostly solemn and flows in circles of inconsolable sadness. The world slowly catches fire, burns until there are souls who can feed it with their exceptional wisdom and grace. I see them leave one after the other. I see only darkness, anticipating the arrival of hope on wings that are neither visible, nor audible. I am a star, unable to move. There are times when I can alter fate with just one thought, one better deed than the one before. There are times when the cruelty in others does not scare me, when I can shout loud enough for the rest to hear. There are times when I lean so low that I can see my reflection in the water. Were I to touch it, all of the dust would cover the waves that rush to rub the shore. But I am unmoved, fitted just right, patient in my statuesque mission. I see a war around me, I see millions of lights that are lit then flicker, after much debate die to alight again. I cannot hold you back, cannot call on you to hurry faster. You take your sweet time and the world may disappear before you get to me. So here I am, fearful of time, doubtful if I will ever persevere, joyful in the hope that I may too be once noticed. I am a star with a heavy anchor, sometimes lost, sometimes adamant in being a part of an important constellation. I pull the tide closer, I guide the blinded souls home, I chase the sun and forge an alliance with the moon. Soon I will hear you, you will call out my name while I cry with tears of joy, whimper as I sail towards the horizon.