- Monday, April 02, 2007

Similar to Her

I found myself wading through the darkness, my feet brushing against the sharp glassy grass, and my eyes staring into void. When I try to reach my hand out, I couldn't find anything to hold, instead I found thin layers of frosty air dancing around my palms as if they were a source of energy.

Cold breeze blew against me, whispering a hymn of melancholy. I brushed my hair, crystal drops of tears flowed down my cheek. They, the tears, drew my strength as they slopped down, gracefully yet forcefully, down my face, each time stinging my skin with taunts of rejection. I looked up and found a silvery moon with her silent song hummed into the atmosphere of the earth. She seemed so lonely, but I could understand how she felt.

Friends seemed to come to me like blooming flowers during seasons, but then they'd wither away and leave when winter comes. They're nothing but fake mirrors of emotions, that'll smile at you when all goes fine, but smirk when something wrong happen, and then turn and escape. Before your very eyes, they could lavish you with beautiful words, like a bluish wind that envelopes you and eats away all the heat. But behind your back, they would criticize you and stab your confidence as if they never had one. Probably they were jealous, probably they were unsatisfied. But who cares? Flowers, withering and blooming, all the same.

Things crashed against my chest and left a hurt never heal-able, and tore the whole me into pieces I could never seem to attach back. If I were disappointed, I am probably not by now; if I were sad, I probably can't feel so now; if I were hopeless, I probably don't feel so now. I could sit at a corner and beg for sympathy, but that isn't what I want. I could request somebody to hold me in his arms tightly and never let go, but who would want to do so? I could snatch someone and hold him, chest against chest, hoping that the person would hold me too, but who'd do so?

If I were to be born without emotion, perhaps the world around me would change. I would be able to walk out of anywhere feeling naught, and smile at everything, good or bad. Wouldn't that be something better? Wouldn't that be a blue sky with free-flying birds to me? Wouldn't that be a picture of perfection? I believe so.

To me, 'God' is just a name of abstraction. Like the air, I could not catch; like the wind, I could not see. I always wondered what would it be like to be loved, especially by God, yet until now I couldn't even comprehend a little bit. What so, then, is the use of knowledge when everything boils down to inexperience?

Were my questions beyond answers? Nobody knows.

You, if you were sensible,
When I tell you the stars flash signals, each one dreadful,
You would not turn and answer me
'The night is wonderful'.
- D. H. LAWRENCE, 'Under the Oak'

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