Torches

Torches

It is quite true what philosophy says; that life must be understood backwards. But then one forgets the other principle: that it must be lived forwards.

When our paths became subjects of serendipity I believed they had merged permanently, that somehow our footprints would always be paired by our own combined sense of direction. However, at one point or another the cracks began to show the early signs of divergence. Soon you went on your way and I mine, but I always believed that in the darkness of uncertainty you would find your way back to me - I carried a torch for you. It held the flames of hope and possibility for our future which at one time ignited a passion bright enough to quell the fears of darkness. That was a time ago, and I've come to realize that the rag was soaked with memories which hold eternal in a time long past. Every second that passes steals something from you while depositing it into those moments because while the man in those memories, the man I love, holds eternal you continue to remain forever changed by life decaying on your path. At a time I believed the vision of me holding a light for you to follow would change you back into who you once were. Sadly I was naive in believing a person can change another. We can only watch as time strips off layers of each person and reveals the result of experience mixing subcutaneously with the soul. I watched and I waited but I wept for the layers and recoiled at the sight of a man I barely recognized. If you bore any semblance to the treasured memories of mine it was all in physicality and even that had succumb to the murderous hands of time.  

Alas, the fire is no longer as luminous at it once was. The emaciated dreams of our youth are slowly burning and catching flight with the dancing smoke of our ashen hopes disintegrating ceaselessly into an abyss of forgotten flames. The light is lost and the torch rendered useless. There is nothing left of you for me to hold.

It's human nature to hide the dirtiest , most filthiest aspects of your soul. They are trapped behind the enamel bars of that fragile cage. Few and far between are the purely beautiful birds which escape through that barrier. They sing their sweet yet slight song that can only travel so far before it's forgotten. Yet we continue to follow those notes and hope they portray how beautiful we are. There is a fear of allowing the world to become witness to a darkness which cannot explain; it's who we are. We are cemeteries of secrets buried deep under the surface of our souls. However you stumbled onto the grounds and fearlessly roamed through the rows of monsters awaiting you. The skeletons arise and carry my shame in their marrow as they portray who I am to you. Yet you continue to roam and acquaint yourself with the darkest interior of who I am.

With you I become a well rounded person. You allow me to complete the portrait even with the darkest of hues. You accept the textured edges along with the vacuous spaces which are yet to be filled. I don't think you understand how beautiful that makes me feel.

The silence hangs heavily in the air, and just like your scent it has an overbearing presence which haunts me long after you've gone. The omnipresence of this silence becomes all consuming until I am sufficiently drenched in solitude. The atmosphere is devoid of what once was a content living. Spatters of discomfort paint portraits of images I do not wish to face at the moment yet the hands continue to move revealing that the time for retrospection is nigh. However, as those choose to reminisce I am forced to reconcile

myself with the phantasms I have yet to tame. Only then can I concede with the silence in the air that hangs heavy with your scent long after you have gone.

I trust your beauty. I do not wish to make changes to you but instead watch in awe as you unfold before me. The beautiful gestalt of your existence overrules any perceived imperfection. The perfection of your beauty lies within the essence of you being free to unfold without the restraint of judgement. One does not look to the horizon and insult the uneven amount of clouds along the sunset. I would never point out a superfluous trait when, in the serendipity of the universe, I was granted the delicate fortune to see you.

(I Like) The Way You Love Me - Michael Jackson

Been blasting this all day.

The faintest of whispers creep through the timeless ground which once enclosed it so tight. Traveling through the perils of retrospect I can't help but wind up on the grounds where such memories lie. My fingers itch as they outline the key to a wrought iron gate sealing me from an indelible past I wish to forget.

These whispers become harsh murmurs and fight against the dirt trying n vain to keep it sealed. However, I cannot escape. Those words are picked up immediately and become visceral as they swim through my veins and poison me with that internal toxin of regret. I had thought these skeletons would find peace in the graveyard after being disregarded into the darkest corners of my closes. Instead their calls become more dense and sharp as they fight for my attention. They fight to be remembered. I beg to forget. I adorned their resting place with tombstones and gave well meaning goodbyes. I speak in eulogies at the thought of their essence remembering nothing but the best. I continually expand my vocabulary in hopes that I can find the words to quell these voices. The stages of grief have reached an intermission and I'm stuck in that 3rd stage of bargaining. Maybe I choose to stay behind the curtain in order to avoid the audience of the next production - depression. However, the calls from the maw of tarnished memories are pushing me to face the predetermined script of this torrid production. These voices refuse to die. They will not rest until I face the rotting corpse of my mistakes.