Crescent.
It's like the moon ate its own pieces out of spite and helpless resentment when the sun has shut the doors of light at its face and turned away to fall into the graces of sweet slumber.
The little crumbs fell and spread all over the dark dome, sparkling in a vain attempt to condole their sad, sad mother.
Unfixable.
I heard a sharp voice piercing the quietness reigning during the long Friday afternoon, almost seeming like an eternity during which one could fall off the reel of time for a while. The torn drapes of tranquility found each other again and the stirred particles of order fell back into place. Something seems to have broken into pieces, somewhere.
And for a while I lay on the couch, tracing bumps and lines on the ceiling before the nails of foreboding started to dig deeper as they scratched at my heart. I got up to check what that was.
My little brother was bent over a broken vase, trying to put the pieces together with despair seeming more prevalent on his young face the longer one stared. His automated, thoughtless movements were almost condoling, as I watched how every piece fit perfectly; the traces of a cracked surface almost fading.
I said "Whachu doin', boy ?"
He said that he knocked it over while playing around.
I said that I could gather as much, scrutinizing the situation, and that I meant what he was doing trying to fix the broken pieces without the smart use of glue;
That it would never stay put this way, duh
That it would never be the same even if it looked so perfect from afar
I don't know why I said that; this young one doesn't understand things like that yet
But It seems that I waited for a long, long, very long time to say that to somebody
He looked at me, as if the words I've just uttered have grabbed him by the collar and shook him relentlessly.
I felt bad for saying the obvious; guilt and impuissance started to drip from the tips of his fingers, stopped in motion before they reached for the last piece, sharper than the bitter insults thrown at a fugitive walking to his doom.
"Dad liked it so much", he said. "He will flip at me. Again."
We hid the shreds together under my bed.
Dead Stars.
There is something awry about sea stars that get washed to the shore during winter nights. The water engulfing one's feet is never cold; as if it tries to seduce the hopeless wanderers to delve deeper, and deeper into dark oblivion.
These things- beings, almost always missing a limb or two, are still alive, though dried up like the soil on a forgotten grave, they are very much alive beneath the hard layers of defiance against time, they just seem to have fallen asleep. Until the world becomes less crushing to live in, I presume.
How very convenient.
Long Strands.
My hair keeps falling. It has never been this bad before; I never had to collect it continuously while roaming around the house; roll the fallen strands in black lumps, like a desert tumbleweed.
Are these my memories escaping through the pores on my scalp ? I wonder.
Thoughts, recollections, hopes, remnants of dreams interrupted, the words I swallow during the day, the poems squirming at night to get out to the refuge of my warm pillow. Secrets passed on to me in whispers dying to announce their existence.
The longer the strand, the dearer the motif. It falls, unnoticed, though
And is swept along the dust, forgotten.
Helplessness.
I look at you, trying so hard to make a statement without employing words though you seem to have mastered them all like your slaves, and I could think of nothing within my power to help you understand the wrongs in your ways, or at least evade the reaching clutches of your mind games.
I don't understand many a facet of the human condition; but you should know that I run away from the embodiment of ambiguity in human flesh.
Ambiguity scares me to my wits, see, I got enough of that on my plate. I'm in a constant flight from myself.
My stellar sky is ambiguous enough, my dear, I struggle to crack my own mind and don't wish to go around planting axes of insight into the skulls of strangers.
So get along, this brain is occupied finding its own tail in the dark.
