The beginning and the end are so familiar, I can hardly tell birth and death apart. The hands that held me up in celebration of my birth now grip me tightly as I waste away towards an inevitable demise. In the beginning I screamed as I was dragged out from a dark space out into the light, in my final days I scream in pain as the light once more fades into darkness. Sadly, the only notable difference between these phenomenon is the speed at which they occur. I was far too eager to exist, I clawed at the space that sheltered me, I put both our lives at risk, I was far too eager to exist. Now, time cannot pass by fast enough, the clock mocks me with its ticking as I slowly waste away. I was far too eager to exist. I hope you stay here for much longer.
The sun is setting at noon and I’ve hardly lived a life, the sun will set at noon and I hope it doesn’t all end tonight. My skin is still smooth and strong not a wrinkle in sight, the sun will set at noon to mark the end of my life. The future doesn’t exist and the present is even bleaker, I’ve long forgotten the past, nostalgia dare not linger. The sun is setting at noon, I’ve caught no butterflies in my net and I haven’t frolicked in the fields for long.
My mind is sharp like a butcher’s knife and yet my vessel is as damaged as the very surface on which he cuts his merchandise. I’m yet to come to terms with my fragility. I’ve always believed that for every soul that is released from the sky, the earth releases a plant for balance. The flower that marked my start sprouted on inhabitable lands, it fed on the nutrients of the bodies of those who wondered amidst this freezing winter. Not many seasons have passed, yet this anomaly can no longer bear the harsh weather, it wasn’t made to grow in a place like this, the flower is wilting, its petals are falling and I hope I’ll live to see the morning. I’m yet to come to terms with my fragility.
Dawn is almost here, I’m weary and my wrist aches, the ink and tears have blotted the papers, all that’s left on my table is an incoherent mess, lord I hope I make it till morning. I hope you’ll live for both of us, with nets filled with butterflies and bruises from frolicking for far too long on the fields. I hope when your flower wilts, your face is marred with wrinkles and smile lines. I pray that when we meet again your vessel is as old as your mind.
WRITER'S TINY CORNER
I would have apologized for my prolonged absence but I think that we’ve all established that there is hardly any sincerity in my apologies. I was recently informed (much to my obvious dismay) that my body is an abandoned, old house and my knees are the creaky windows. So for now I’m not focused on anything but eating my heart and hoping that I choke. I do however see the wrong in my absence and I’ve made an oath to write for you consistently. I hope to see you again in the first week of February. Goodbye kids, don’t choke on your half-eaten hearts.
I'd like to see more of this, even if it means choking on my half eaten heart while reading...and I don't care how far it may go but I'll Keep chasing you, even if my legs are cut off, I'll use my hands, even if my hands are cut off, I'll use my tongue, as far as my very existence cannot be wiped out I'll never stop chasing you because even of I die, my spirit still knows where to find peace.
This is lovely.