The Only Reality

I sat on the shore and watched the new dawn rise. A quarter past three AM, and lights erupted in the sky. First it was five, then it was twelve, and then it was so bright I could no longer see.

The first thing I thought about was carrying you here, at least, what was left of you.

This could have been so different, had only we allowed it to be.

Bickering turned to yelling, yelling turned to anger, and anger turned to violence. I raised my hand at you but once, and I knew it would be the only time such would happen. The regret that clouds my movements speaks of how to alter my steps, tells me not to make this happen again. While in my head, there’s some strange tidal pull to throw me back into the things I know I should avoid.

You’re not with me, so looking at your face only makes it hurt that much more. I would whisper into your ear, to see the lights before us. Soon they will take me, but you will remain here… at least, what’s left of you.

My eyes missing out on some important detail, something inside them telling me to dart about randomly as the lights erupt more and more, multiplying in the early morning sky. Maybe I just can’t stand to look at you?

I drop you and huddle on the ground, thinking to myself: How could this be the real world?

Perception is powerful, but limited in scope. The things we promise ourselves and those around us differ to such varied degrees. Reality isn’t perception, but if so, then what’s the truth that I’ve been missing?

This can’t be the reality. I remember so much of how I was to you, thinking I was only ever kind and compassionate. How does something like this happen, when my memories tell me that my failed perception is reality?

Just as soon as I stand along the shore and the tide laps at my feet, I feel the things I know I feel, and the sensation that it’s all real… but this can’t be reality.

I want to see that I carried you here on my back, while you laughed all along, just as though summers past, when this place would hide us from the world. I want to see that your hands, are still inching closer to mine, just like every night as I slept.

But what I see, is you there, lying so cold and unaware, ignorant of the brilliance that has taken over the sky.

What I see is not what I have made… In truth what I’ve made is what I’ve seen. Carve you out of sand, and watch you crumble in my hands, screaming to myself that it’s all the way it should be. Just as the events have set the sky into brilliant light, the only world I am afforded is the same one that all others occupy. No concessions are made to me, and my judgment still awaits me, for what I’ve done. The actions that I took, that brought you here in such a state, and my mind is spinning with too much burden and hate.

This can be reality, but only if I choose.

This can be nothing, but only if I close my eyes.

This can be everything, but not for me.

This is the world I’ve known, and it’s never going away.

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