Image for post
Image for post
Photo by Carlos Kenobi on Unsplash

Colloquial phrases fail to capture the magnitude of the loss and the depth of the chasm left in the place of tender, playful love that was — always more warm than chaotic, more soft than burning — left to spend its final moments gasping for air. Especially when it’s too strong to die. Too deeply rooted in the most fertile parts of your soul. Destined or doomed to ebb and flow with the rising seas of Lethe. Anchored to bittersweet memories that take on a life of their own.

In dreams the memories, immortal and thriving, paint the landscape of the unconscious mind. Neither numbing nor nightmarish, the visions of what was and what could be cast shadows and gift light to the darkness creeping behind closed eyes. Fate reels you out into the desert where Charybdis once swallowed ships only to cut the string and leave you flailing, drowning in scorched earth. Dry heat forces you to run toward the sawn off edges of the world. There is no edge. From no place can you jump. This is the utopian realm of dreams.

A cosmic wasteland embodied in the hollow shell of a lover laid to waste. A mind sorting through discarded moments in an effort to prepare for the inevitable waking. Dirtied then polished to shine bright as the flames of hellos left unanswered.

Still they haunt and they linger as you reach for that phantom limb on the surface of the sea. The hand that leaves. You fall deeper, sinking to nowhere. Even the current weeps as you’re carried back to the beginning on a jet stream of wonder. Time escapes the frame. The scene has cast you as the broken-winged moth drawn to the dying embers of the sun.

Patterns and fractals triplicate in the cold, velvet darkness freckled with stars and littered with the fragments of endless broken hearts.

What is the atomic trajectory of embodied heart ache? The lonely reckoner speaks destiny into existence by name. Denial grows, blooms, buckles under the weight of the dust cloud collapsing. Gassed up and beaming the celestial bodies appear in 3/4 time, spinning. Swept under. Distant yet anchored firmly within.

They take your hand and pull you back to shore. A sure thing sordidly sprung from somewhere stolen and spiraling between synapse and supernovae. Lost between the notes you run. In place of fear you cling to the comfort of the chaos. Your vision is jigsawed, the truth jarring. You wish away the nightmare of impossible touch as the tide edges back. Regret’s orbital speed rivals light and cloaks the hope in despair.

For there was no goodbye only a coming together of a new world built from the rubble of memories. When tired eyes meet restless hearts the realm of dreams enters an endless blue period. Pale blue. Post-earthly delights in prelapsarian Eden. Sparks send signals to your conscious mind. Your circadian rhythm, syncopated and startled, skips a beat. The breath before the embrace is bottled in time.

“Rise and shine.”

Written by

NYC-based philosophy graduate student whose work covers Genocide Studies, Repro + Enviro Justice, and Critical Race Theory. @moontwerk

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store