Disavowal

It’s dark. It’s still. The air around me has a breathless quality to it, only intermittently broken by the sounds that stir the heart.

Soft, gentle melodies. Memories of whispered nothings. My own choking sobs.

You see, I have retreated to my shell.

Alone, surrounded with worn recollections of a brief life. The past has never been deader. Basking in the flimsy warmth of its flickering light, I stand now with its smoke curling around my being, the ash dusting my feet.

I chose to burn the past myself. And I stand; singed and charred, unable to escape the ramifications of the dependency I had so willingly embraced.

Who am I then, you may ask? Here, I do not take any form, portray no role I would otherwise be carrying in your realm. I’m simply a living, breathing individual, acutely aware of my mortality, my limitations – aware of the bitter truth that even if I sever all ties, others continue to bind me.

Is it pain that you see etched into my being?

I laugh. It is both mocking and rejoicing, intertwining bliss and melancholy. And I laugh – at you, at myself, at the entire cosmos. 

And I cry – for what I had been, for what I would become...for what I am now.

I have withdrawn and yet I’m still here. I both loathe and crave your presence. Isn’t life a beautiful paradox? To live while dying, to love with fear, to trust and yet be unsure?

So bring me back. Cajole me to return. For I long to do so, despite knowing that all I want is to be left alone.

But that is what life is. Who am I to say otherwise? 

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Ramblings of Boring Romanticism will be continued next time - you think I'll give up so easily on that, eh?