Gone

“As happens sometimes, a moment settled and hovered and remained for much more than a moment. And sound stopped and movement stopped for much, much more than a moment.”
John Steinbeck

~

There are no words.

As we experience our personal version of external reality, our minds become under the illusion that they own the images that are being projected inside our schema. You should tell your mind to take itself less seriously.

Itachi says that one man's reality might be another's illusion. It's both nice and not nice to know what that means. It often happens that empty words said can be perceived by someone else as words that are overflowing with meaning.

He told me that when you put a single drop of white paint in a container of black paint, nothing changes and that when you do the opposite, everything changes. It naturally made me want to develop the analogy into coherent ideas concerning good and evil, right and wrong. But I didn't.

I think I know good people who think they're bad people and bad people who think they're good people. I also think that you can never know for sure who is good and who isn't, that some people think all human beings are inherently good while others think that we're all bad. All in all, it's very sad how everyone judges everyone else.

I believe that bread becomes holy because of the faithful hands that make it.

I fell asleep to the sound of a beautiful song.

And then an empty feeling of neutrality landed in my heart. Everything went so fast, so fast that I [...] so fast the only thing I could perceive was that everything was nothing and nothing was everything.

And then there was really nothing. And now, there is nothing here.

And I don't have anything to say anymore. Numbness and neutrality are as dry as this weather. And I am not here. I'm somewhere else and this detachment is as visible as the invisible links not connecting these paragraphs.

Nothing to declare. And yet I wish you didn't feel this way and I wish I knew what to think or feel or say after reading what you wrote.

Nothing. And yet I hope that this emptiness will change.

There are no words.

~

"Do you think you can find it?"

Ryan Tedder

Becoming

“Power over others is weakness disguised as strength.”
Eckhart Tolle

~

M + 7i = 71

Solving a problem usually starts and ends by finding the value of an unknown variable. In order to find the missing element, ordinary techniques require you to put all the known values on one side, and the single key to the problem on another (It's usually X but in this case, it's M, for multiple reasons). Then, you must calculate how all the things you know are related, and your problem will be solved. If you have two unknown variables, you need two equations. If you have more, good luck with the recurrent headaches and whatever drugs you take to make them go away. In my equation (seen above), I have made enough progress to get the number of unknown variables down to one. I figured out the value of M a while ago and now I am left with the lovely imaginary unit i. The latter allows you to move from the world of rational numbers to the realm of the complex, all the while knowing that it's all a play in your imagination.

So why are you so sad? Do you wake up every day to the buried thought of having failed at resolving your equation? What known constant continues to escape your sight? What unknown variable continues to pain your mind? Are you reading some crazy person's words to escape your worries? Do you fear that you've become a monster or a fraud underneath all these masks? Do you know what part of me is writing this and which part of you is reading it? Did it cross your mind that it is you who is writing in blinks while I am only a voice inside your head? Do you think power makes us stronger and love, weaker? Or is it the other way around?

Why are you so sad?

Identity may be the brightest highway to an empty darkness. It could also be a narrow path that your demons are not allowed to take.
Love may be coagulated blood pretending to be a red rose with two colorblind mockingbirds bathing in its scent. It could also be at the core of every honorable truth in this very dishonorable reality.
Purpose may be ridden with losses that will take with them parts of your heart. It could also be the only way to protect the people you love.

So Identity asks you who you are now and who you want to become.
Love follows up and wonders who you want next to you when all your dreams come true.
And Purpose waits for your answers with either a frown or a smile.

So why are you so sad?

Are you broken beyond repair? Do you feel like you're a stranger that no one truly knows or appreciates? Is your ego part of the constants or the variables? How many lies do you tell yourself before you go to sleep? How many truths can you not say out loud even when there's no one around? Which do you distrust more, your heart or your mind? Do you miss that person that used to be a part of your life? Do you wonder if they miss you? Can any of these questions really make a difference?

To each his own illusion, passion and poison and to hell with all these words I write about their interwoven ramifications and imaginary equations.

Conclusion. Talk is cheap and actions speak far louder than words. So dear reader, stop being sad and make better decisions for a better future. Logic never fails.

~

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. 
Love never fails"
1 Corinthians 13

Stranger

“The pain started years ago, but I'd lived with it for so long at that point that I'd accepted it as an inevitable part of me.” 

Ashley D. Wallis

~

She couldn't understand it, that small and very simple statement: 

He's in love with someone else. 

I told her that people are free to fall in love with whomever they choose, that she needs to stop fighting so that he can find peace and happiness. She said she couldn't stop thinking about him and I told her that I totally understand what she's going through and that things always get better in time. Then she asked me why he would stop loving her. And I froze for a second because I had a flashback and then I answered her in the best way I knew.

"People change all the time. They develop new feelings for new people. The downside here is that he changed and you didn't. The upside is that you will too in the near future. And if you want to look at it from an ideal perspective, the old him still loves you, and one day, the same will apply to you, when this you becomes the old you. Then all the moments you can't get out of your head, all the nights you spent thinking about him, all the beautiful daydreams and whatever songs or movies remind you of him, they'll become distant memories that rarely ever visit you. But when they do, they'll draw a faint smile on your face accompanied by a tender blink and a downward gaze and when that happens, you'll see that the old you was very lucky to love and be loved by the old him."

I went on and on but she was not convinced. And I knew that all I said was in vain because a blinded heart simply wants what it wants and because I saw how the look of brokenness in her eyes remained unaffected. And still, I kept going. I kept going, on and on and on.

"You need to stop fighting for him because he probably belongs with someone else and that's something you have no right to take away. You need to stop fighting because if you don't, the pain will destroy you. You need to stop fighting because ten months isn't even a long time. You need to stop fighting because while you're here crying on my shoulder, he's kissing her and I swear and I promise that I'm sorry but this is the truth."

I probably shouldn't have mentioned the part about him kissing her because she started crying again. And the sight of her pain overwhelmed me with sadness so I looked away. I looked away and wondered if I actually cared about this young stranger who opened her heart to me even though she didn't even know my last name. 

Regardless, life goes on, and it stops for nobody. And eventually, it gets better. So, dear reader, if you have loved and lost, or suffered from unrequited love, I hope you know that everything. everything happens for a reason. I also implore you to remember that life is full of surprises, opportunities and distractions. And most importantly, you should know and believe that there is someone you are meant to love and that they are meant to love you back, that you can share a life and family with them, till death do you part. So instead of being sad, look forward to the moment you eyes will meet.

You might meet him very soon.

~

“When I found you, I had not found myself yet, but when I found myself, I had already lost you.” 

Elmar Hussein

Maps

“Grief does not change you, Hazel. It reveals you.”
John Green

~

One of the moderately hidden patterns of life is that a person often says that people never change right before he or she changes into someone very different.

Take a bowl of family problems. Add three spoons of trust issues and half a cup of self-esteem. Mix well. Drown them with a few drops of an over-complicated history of disinterest and seventy-one milliliters of unfinished business. I don't know the rest of the recipe but I recall that the whole thing has a very peculiar taste of emptiness.

So yeah I don't know why you want me to write about myself. But here goes nothing.

I usually dislike it when people call me weird because it reminds me of how I always fail to belong. Most of my recent problems stem from my tendency to transform everything I feel into ideas and concepts because it's far easier than processing feelings. I enjoy using song lyrics to think when I get bored of my daily recurrent thoughts. I would like to own a chain of restaurants one day. When I run into people, I try to envision how they used to look as children. I believe that true love happens only once and that it never dies. I also believe that friendship is more important than blood, that randomness does not exist and that society is a phantom concept. The contents of my head usually belong to one or more of five different sections: P, M, C, D and I. P stands for psycho-social, M stands for metaphysical and I'll tell you about the other three when I see you. In any case, let us call the PMCDI map, I-Map for simplicity. This I-map has a shadow counterpart for raw feelings called the L-map. The latter, however, does not contain sections because my heart happens to be indivisible; it's all or nothing. Anyway, the L-map contains songs, a number of unforgettable memories, fictional characters from stories and TV shows, people I know, people I used to know, and, of course, you.

The two maps are quite honestly worlds apart. And yet, in between the two lies a different kind of map, one of infinitely powerful links, that sometimes allows the dimensions to converge in moments of pure beauty. Two of four walls in my room and my beloved ceiling refer to this special map as the M-map. And though I'm not sure whether the M stands for meaning, magic or metaphor, I'm good with the name.

So in summary, I guess my being can be reduced to three maps: I, M and L. I know it might seem very boring now but when I draw them for you on paper with all the main theories, numbers, names, symbols and songs, you'll see how your initials happen to mark the treasure at the heart of the M-map, how the I-map shuts down every time we kiss and how the L-map almost beats out of my shirt when you jump to hug me.

I hope this wasn't too weird or too disappointing. I hope to be good enough for you. And I really hope that you will be smiling somewhere in the next thirty seconds.

One of the moderately hidden patterns of life is that no matter how much I change, I will always love you.

~

"Everything will change, but love remains the same."
Gavin Rossdale

Perfume

“The dawn of beauty always comes after night.” 
Sorin Cerin

~

It's ninety minutes past midnight and you're not here. It's ninety minutes past midnight and I'm not here either.

I wonder how many minutes we still have together.

Over the course of history, sleepless nights have born witness to too many people, their headaches and heartaches, wishes and prayers, to songs that silenced the passage of time and a music in the silence that only the heart can hear. And yet on this sleepless night of my own, I swear by the graceful movement of your perfect eyes as they read these letters, that I just want to hear your voice.

I can think all I want about the non-existent distance between your stars and mine, about how our heartbeats travel the skies and meet midway to plan our next hug, and how our spirits visit each other's dreams and therein vow to forget all about it in the morning. And yet I know that all these thoughts are only echoes of the 'I miss you' that won't stop playing back in whatever's left of my soul.

I honestly don't know what to write anymore. And I don't know if I should do the right thing and leave or stay and see you every day. I know you told me to do the right thing but what's more important, the right thing or the right person?

You once told me that the only signs that matter are those we cannot see because it is those signs that keep us free and I didn't tell you how that simple thought changed my world. One day, I'll propose to you an equally beautiful idea that will change your world too.

But for now, tell me, love.

Tell me how you stole a heart I didn't know still existed. Tell me how you brought back words I thought were dead. Tell me how your perfume magically makes my lips paint a smile on your neck. Tell me this dream is good enough for you and that it won't be replaced with another, that you won't travel the world with someone else. Tell me that we will spend many sleepless nights together, nights where we won't know whether you are me or I, you, nights where I will look into your eyes and tell you the three words I promised myself never to say again.

For now, I tell you this, with the low, slow voice that you called boring:

I'm yours to keep.

~

“May night continue to fall upon the orchestra.” 
André Breton

Exception

“The present changes the past. Looking back you do not find what you left behind.” 

Kiran Desai

~

An old friend once told me that anyone, no matter how much you love them, can be replaced by someone else. I still remember how I laughed and told him that his statement is an insult to everything I believe in, and that his view of the world is very sad. I recently met up with this friend after a few years of distance and when I saw him he still had that same look of detachment in his eyes. He thankfully knew me well enough to skip the small talk and the fake bullshit, and a minute into our conversation, he dropped the bomb, with his careless gaze piercing through my supposedly heavily-armored mind:

"What happened? Your eyes look almost as faithless as mine."

My reaction was that I looked away, downward then to the right with that smile people wear when someone sums up their past with a catchphrase, the same one they use when a very close person unknowingly calls them by the word that strikes at all their inner scars. It was at that moment that I realized how right he was about almost everything and how I simply couldn't see it because of my childish ideals. I wanted to discuss the "anyone can be replaced" issue but whatever I was going to learn wasn't worth reminding him of the people he lost. Instead, I shifted the subject from faith in people to faith in God and then to the difference between faith and religion. 

I didn't tell him what happened because I didn't want to boost his faithlessness. 

But it's actually plain, simple and uncomplicated: We're all the same. We are the forgotten that forget, selfishly replacing the people who once lived in our hearts. We're all the same. And it happens in a blink. You spot a stranger and you close your eyes with the feeling that these strangers have become family, that they're an immortal part of you. And then, a few years later, you open your eyes to see that they're strangers once again. More importantly, you see that your wish upon a stranger is sadly a very common one. We're all the same and everyone keeps blinking at the strangers around them. We're all the same, used and replaced, using and replacing our own hearts, as if they meant nothing to us. We're all the same, a faithless dreamer whose memories were dreams that never happened, whose words of love were perhaps just a love for words, and whose hugs were terribly, terribly convincing lies. We're all the same, replacing old words and feelings with new ones. 

You recently told me that I was different from everyone else you've ever met and I told you that I see beautiful things around you. I should have added that I'm not different, that we're all the same. But instead I told you that I'll be leaving soon and you told me that you would give up the world for us to stay together. But I didn't say anything because you used a word that an old version of me used to share with a girl who was once just like you.

I don't know how you manage to remind me of how I used to be when I was a kid, how you talk and smile like that girl used to when she was a kid, how you don't mind that you sometimes remind me of the person you replaced and, most importantly, I don't know why I can't stop seeing beautiful things around you. I don't know why you feel like an exception.

So what happens next? And why are you here at such a terrible timing? What if we're all kids pretending to be grown-ups? And what if I told you that my once empty heart doesn't feel so empty anymore? What if I told you that I'll have two pictures of you in the apartment? Would you come visit, accidentally fall asleep, and wake up with your head on my shoulder in both picture and reality? Will your smile still be broken then?

What happens next?

~

“I’ll rearrange my love for you like I’ll rearrange the living room furniture. But first I have to replace everything.
” 

Jarod Kintz

Remedy

"And you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it's sinking
Racing around to come up behind you again
The sun is the same in a relative way, but you're older
Shorter of breath and one day closer to death."
Pink Floyd

~

Time flows along these lines as they progressively grow sickened by my words. Time glides through the stream of your heartbeats, dodging its micro-seismic echoes and their heavenly cosmic beat. And time drowns beneath the line pulling down with it all the colors of the sunset. And as time fades into the calm and quiet watery waves of the mind, I lose sight of the infinite scene.

Time is buried along with all these colorful thoughts and yet there you are. There you are, the dream-girl who separates sky and sea, day and night, heart from body and mind from reality. And there they are, the edges outside which everything is blurred, the eyes that silence the world. And there it is, the smile that redefines both my heart and horizon, and every single word in between.

I, both fortunately and unfortunately, do not believe in time. But that doesn't matter because, either way, these misarranged words are mere ashes of an aching mind decorated with the metaphorical dust of a fraudulent self-destructive attempt at a heart. And it doesn't matter because this wind around me does not know the difference between the ash that once faked meaning in a blazing heart and the dust that disfigured pain, killed it, made a statue of it and then built a maze of walls around the statue only to realize that it was all in vain because metaphors bear no remedy for the heart.

So pretend. Pretend that you're walking in the slowest motion while all that's around you is restlessly running in the opposite direction. Pretend that your mind is hovering, exploring minds and structures, systems and thoughts, the origin beneath and beyond, and the almost indiscernible idea that seems to make all the difference. Pretend that your heartbeats are floating like bubbles, rushing toward that bed-ridden sunset that never really happened because it knows that the horizon is more empty than the phantom concept of society and even more so compared to this vacant chest of disappearing ink which believes in neither concepts nor horizons. Pretend all you want, really. Meanwhile, I'll pretend that you're only running for cover, that your mind is in fight mode because it's undecided on whether your heart is in that flight mode with underdeveloped legs, or in this one, with dormant wings.

Through and through, I've always walked alone. Surely, I've met individuals that were beyond grace and wonder, though they sadly couldn't see it. Yet though we walked side by side in the blessed moments at which our roads converged, I somehow always walked alone, and deep inside, they did too. But, there were other moments where I looked behind my shoulder with that slight turn of the head, and you were always there, the heavenly jewel that keeps the volcano from erupting. Through and through, I've always walked alone, but you were there too.

In any case, the music plays on. The melody fades inward into me, and outward into another tune as the rhythm within fluctuates in a manner mystically proportional to the two oscillating heartstrings I have left...

But regardless, whether your aspired home is on the mountains of power or in the stars of love, whether you seek strength and value to hide your insecurities or a make-believe romantic fairytale to feel worthy of love, whether you fall off the edge of your pride or burn out and think yourself into a state of stardust, whether all you do is reducible to the love of power or divisible into a series of hopeless shots in a dark sky that's always missing the power of love, whether you know that your heart and mind are withering and the people you love are dying in their own special ways or whether you drown those dreadful waves in numerous kinds of addictions, time is running out. Time is running out.

Time flows along my words as they progressively grow sickened by these lines. The main upside is that words and times are changing which probably means that my worn-out roadmap of being and becoming has redrawn its lines.

It's time to go.

Come what may.

~

"The time is gone, the song is over, thought I had something more to say."

Pink Floyd