Essay on the past/present/future

Do you ever believe that wishes made upon falling stars can come true? You don’t? That’s funny. Because I wanted to tell you a story, one that was made upon a falling star. No, let’s put it in another way, one that was made up on a falling star.

You see, one day I was walking along a busy street, taking care of my darlings, my thoughts, letting them play with each other, feed each other, and die each at a time as the other one would come to take their place. So I was walking, filled with contempt because of the maturity my thoughts had grown in before they died, and I stopped all of the sudden. I can’t possibly remember why, call it… a hunch, call it coincidence, call it faith or the Lord. And I looked around. I watched the people around me, and looking in their lakes of truth, I saw everything they were, everything they wished or hoped to be, everything they were to become. It was all written in the waves of their lakes. Because the lakes told the heart how fast to beat, and the heart told them what lines to wear. There were rigid lines, soft lines, broken lines, round lines… a versatility I had never before discovered, all shades, forms and wrinkles.

And I saw you. I saw me. I saw us both. Watching the lines of people, seeing them, but not really seeing each-other. And I came to you. I let you change the way my lines were, because I knew, whatever you would do, it would be yours. And it would be mine too then. Let me hold your hand. So you can see what I see. So I can be the hand that helps you see your hand.

I was on a falling star. I’ve seen every shade of its shine, its sadness and its joy. I’ve know its dark blue sky. And I’ve seen it fall, deeper and deeper. But then I looked around, and I saw all the other stars. And I made a wish. I wished I could fly. That’s how I met you.

Do you believe in a wish made up on a falling star?

puzzle

My fingers have been cold for so long, I have forgotten they are mine. Did you ever feel drained? Like someone was slowly taking away what was left of you, throwing it away, like it were something useless. Like someone had robbed you of everything that was good about you, and now you’re left with all that is rotten? Not broken. No. Drained.

The soft rain, pierces through my skin, it has long ago learned my secret. Every single drop goes right through me, landing on the rough pavement. There’s nothing there to stop it from falling to the ground. I’m just…

The only thing I feel real, is my heart, imprisoned in a cage too small for it. And no matter how much the grill of the cage pierces through it, trying to deafen its beat, trying to hold it down, it will never be able to stop it from beating. No matter how many drops of rain will bruise her, hurt her, cut her, it will never stop.

I told you my blood is black. I will say it again, scream it out loud, and be proud of it. Because I am not reason, I am feeling. I have many pieces, many shades, some are borrowed, some are stolen, few are mine. Some are yours. Don’t ever forget, that even if I just met you on the street once, even if we never shared a word, a part of me is yours. And the blood that flows through my heart, with every beat, is your blood.

I feel you.

Do you feel it?