It was an episode similar to being engulfed by a ferocious storm that lifts, swirls, chokes you in its madness and eventually spits you out of its embrace! I have lived it thus, yet know not what it was. In its rapidity there was an underlying civility: chances to understand these overwhelming shadows. Chances to synchronize with the rhythm of the storm. Chances to rise above all.
But my madness surpassed that of the storm and I knew it not. And soon, it was day again. The rage of the storm had died. But the winds still howled, the darkness still loomed, the air was still cold… though, everything had aged.
I have met my end and I am still where I was when I began. It disgusts me: I have circled once more.
I was rotting by unknown streams and a firefly kissed my agony. I laughed and he smiled. I saw myself in him and I saw him in me…. I wonder, as if dazed: what was it…?
He gave himself to me without saying anything. He ripped the depths of my soul. And I, unlike him, said everything and yet could not reach him. I do not know if I was struggling to find him or whether it was me that I was struggling to find…
I failed to love the love I was captivated with. I was stagnant in my movements. I was the lie in every truth. I thought I was consuming but I got consumed.
There is an insane plethora of beautiful moments that can bind me to him, but when the flower withers, you only mourn its state and hardly cherish what it once was. But some things are perpetual. It you murder them with you selfish, bloody being than you recline to your Solitary Hell.
I thought I blinded my firefly and so it left me. But it is me that I had blinded. It reminds me of the mystic poet, Jalaluddin Rumi, who said: When you seek the truth, the Truth seeks you. But obscurity has silenced my soul….
And I feel heartless. Let me say no more...