untitled -1-

 “Yellow paper and a red pen.” That’s what she said. “Write with a pencil,” he said, “it’s smoother on paper.” Write what comes to mind as it comes to mind, that’s what I imagine Virginia would’ve said. A stream of consciousness is what is there for you to see, to know, to understand perhaps. Hills or oceans it doesn’t matter. Life changes in the instant, the ordinary instant.

Fear comes and then goes as if it has never existed. Attacking with all its might, with all our might. And what is there that might happen then? A question to never be answered but with a reckless soul going, simply, straight and fast.

Losing something, scraps of information here and there in the rhymes of words and paragraphs. In hills and wooden chairs lying on some random beach. Wood is killed by the waters, and that is why it is the most natural place for it to be. Low notes cover the entry to Eve’s Garden, at the gate of eternity; they cover our eternity. And the end would anyways pursue the dead.

Death is all within life. “And what is death and what is life?” I hear you asking the waiter handing you that large cup of americano.

People come and go, and they have indeed existed. Moments come and go, and no one knows which is which.

At the end of the world, there lie you and I (who is the “you” and which is the “I”?) guarding the gate to eternity that its only beginning it its very end. Nobody else would be there to watch, to supervise, to instruct. Continents would merge, oceans would evaporate, and the hills would continue turning into babies in their mothers’ wombs.

No songs would be played. No home, no land, no blood scattered on the floor. And fear hits, hits hard and strong like it has never done; like it has never existed; like it has always been longing for existence. Lights would blind the souls., every soul would be shattered at fear’s immersing sound. High notes would have never been existent before. Life has never been around. And death? Death is all within life.

Neither you nor I would be there. There is no one guarding the door to eternity or that leading to the end. No one would be staring at the skies above. Skies are no longer here, there only remain the clouds. An the clouds are self-sufficient not asking anybody to look after them or detect their marvelous shapes they have so much playing with.

Life will haunt us down, kill us slowly and with the same speed, fear will continue eating every inch of your soul up. No one is here, only the empty space, the void that is your soul as you finally are able to see it in its true colors: colorless and defeatless. The winner captures all, and today, it is only photographs of past memories.

Going fast as rain drops after a foggy day. But aren’t you always foggy, my dear? A vast, empty, white-colored room with no one in sight, not even your own self. But slowly, with the same pace as of fear, you see yourself shimmering through. Then figure, with the sight of you and I at eternity’s gate, that fear comes and goes, and no one seems to figure if it even has, ever, existed.

Oceans return to their true colors. Hills keep on playing their hill part. Continents go on separating between people. And you leave at 11:30 to catch the midnight bus.

Circles. Circularity of speculations made about the here and there. On repeat plays the same low noted rhyme. You’ve heard it before. It is undoubtedly familiar, like your mirror years ago. Bundling up in your own skin you hide. Because this time you saw it coming. And I hope, just hope, that next time you’d hurry to the gate leading to the nowhere, our nowhere, because it is neither eternity not the end that is ours, my dear. We belong nowhere, and everywhere all at once. Because it is not the place that is ours, nor is time as well.

Life will haunt us down, kill us slowly, and with a speed a bit faster, I would run to the nearest ocean, or if I’m lucky, to the nearest hill. I’d throw myself on that wooden chair that so stubbornly knows where it belongs, or throw myself on the steep rocks covering the top of the world. I would look up to the clouds and wonder where the skies had gone.

In silence, I would remember your soul (soul, what soul?). And as my last act of despair, I’d summon up my heavenly spirits and resurrect it. I’d kiss it gently and lie on the rocks next to it. We’d hold each other’s hands, and watch the end of the world together, where it all turns into a shapeless, colorless void. And then, only then, we’d win the guarding role of eternity’s gate.

 

inspirational song(s): 

On the Sea - Beach House
I Know How to Speak - Manchester Orchestra
Angela - Flower Face 
Empty Note - Ghostly Kisses