There are times when I look up at the setting sun, or the pale moon rising, that I know, as I have always seemed to know, that your eyes reflect the same light. I will smile with you, oh spectre of my soul. I will smile, and say good night.
There are times when I miss someone who is standing right beside me, because in my heart I know the departure has already been made. It's a foreboding prescience I feel all too often, and it burdens my smile when we say goodbye.
I have never strived to be different. I simply am. At the root is this pervasive feeling of uncanny. Despite always being told I belonged. To this place. To that person. To God. To nation. To everyone else's idealogy. This never brought me comfort. I'm uneasy. I'm unstill. Because belonging, to me, has always meant I'd stopped, that there was no reason to look further, to dive deeper, to push harder. And maybe I'm just a little offbeat, maybe I'm a little odd, because almost everyone I know is striving to find that place of belonging. That structure, that shelter of care. But I'd rather stand in the rain. I'd rather soar than belong. I've always been this way. And for the first time, my soul finally feels like it's finding a home. And it is entirely within myself. And it is the only thing that belongs to me.
To all those who's lives I have meandered through, who's eyes I have met, who's smile I have shared, who's words I have kept, to the stranger, the muse, and all who have walked with me for a passing moment or stand beside me still; I have loved you all in some way. But soon, as always, my heart wanders, and I will diverge from your path, but I will think of you often and how your essence has become a part of me. The only forever I believe in are these moments of brevity.
There's a serene sadness that I often feel at dusk, as the sun carries it's light to pastures that I may never see. It's a daily reminder, that no matter how warm and how vital something may be to you, there is nothing in the universe that is permanent. Perhaps this sadness is simply letting go, a kind of surrender to the inevitable tides of life. I miss you every day, whomever you were, whatever you are, however you'll be. And though my heart breaks at dusk, it will be renewed by the dawn.
We build our walls as if our castles were under siege, offering our sight for the illusion of safety; blind kings screaming into the dark. You villify complete strangers, fists drawn, face contorted, as if they have the power to lay claim to your precious kingdom. But I tell you, dear friend, the world does not care about your plot of land. For you've neglected it the very sun it needs to flourish, with your walls that devour the sky.
To you, my love, I offer my self as a mirror. That you may see your own as I do. Fractured beauty that you are. Imperfect like the rest of us. However tragic, however angry, however lost you may seem, I have felt it all and my lips still break upward with the thought of you. So tell me, my love, one more time...what do you see...
There is a fulcrum point to your thoughts. Your state of being pivots along lines that radiate from a center. We all try to sway and bend the world according to this core that, to each of us, is reality. But such control cannot be achieved. If you seek to change the external, you must change your perception of it, you must go within. You must admit that you are the only one bound to that point. And only you can free yourself.
I've spent my life learning how to read between the lines. The substance is always in the subtext.
Revelations in the dark.
I see you...
And I am not afraid of the beasts that paralyze you.
There are rooms within myself that even I have yet to behold.