Walking in Lost
Lost is a place I am familiar with. I used to make forays in that valley with Dead beside me. I miss those days. The doorway to that godforsaken place was a sad song in his mp3 player and invoked with the ritual of flicking a lighter open, the hissing sound accompanying the burning of a cigarette stick. The end glows bright as bright as those days in Lost.
And then Dead disappeared. And I stayed away from Lost. I worked. I read. Talked and laughed on the phone. A charade that soon became real in itself.
But then one night, it was very quiet and deserted and I stumbled on Dead sitting alone. I couldn't help myself. I sat by him.
You're sad. Thin. Dry as a husk. You're sick. Your skin looks like brown paper wrinkled with age.
What do you call people who tell you you're drowning or dying? Friends? Enemies? Lovers? Past lovers?
And he answers. He is sad. Thin. Dry as a husk. Sick. Unhappy. Couldn't push or pull for anything.
With friends, sometimes there are silences. Silences that are brooding and meditating. In one of those silences I searched for something. Some light that would brighten his shadowed spirit. I search my memory for any time in the past wherein he was happy. I search all the familiar nooks and crevices of my memory but I emerge from my foray empty-handed.
And I look at Dead whom I loved so much. Never before at that moment have I felt the hand of God or felt the strands of cosmic destiny intertwined in a perfect intersection. To have an unrequited desire for so long only to realize years after what a blessing it was after all to have it remain such. Unrequited. God does know better. He holds back on what we wish and mayhaps give us better than we ever dreamed of.
The latter is maybe yet to unfold but whatever the outcome, well, it IS an adventure after all.
And even if I say goodbye to Dead, his words echo in Lost.
Thank you for listening to me. I haven't really talked to anyone these days.
Dead will always be Dead.
I will always find my way to Lost.
Someday we will bump into each other again, Dead and I, and walk those paths in Lost.
And then Dead disappeared. And I stayed away from Lost. I worked. I read. Talked and laughed on the phone. A charade that soon became real in itself.
But then one night, it was very quiet and deserted and I stumbled on Dead sitting alone. I couldn't help myself. I sat by him.
You're sad. Thin. Dry as a husk. You're sick. Your skin looks like brown paper wrinkled with age.
What do you call people who tell you you're drowning or dying? Friends? Enemies? Lovers? Past lovers?
And he answers. He is sad. Thin. Dry as a husk. Sick. Unhappy. Couldn't push or pull for anything.
With friends, sometimes there are silences. Silences that are brooding and meditating. In one of those silences I searched for something. Some light that would brighten his shadowed spirit. I search my memory for any time in the past wherein he was happy. I search all the familiar nooks and crevices of my memory but I emerge from my foray empty-handed.
And I look at Dead whom I loved so much. Never before at that moment have I felt the hand of God or felt the strands of cosmic destiny intertwined in a perfect intersection. To have an unrequited desire for so long only to realize years after what a blessing it was after all to have it remain such. Unrequited. God does know better. He holds back on what we wish and mayhaps give us better than we ever dreamed of.
The latter is maybe yet to unfold but whatever the outcome, well, it IS an adventure after all.
And even if I say goodbye to Dead, his words echo in Lost.
Thank you for listening to me. I haven't really talked to anyone these days.
Dead will always be Dead.
I will always find my way to Lost.
Someday we will bump into each other again, Dead and I, and walk those paths in Lost.
posted by Moth at 9:59 AM
4 Comments:
This frigging place we're in. People whose genius meters are inversely proportional to their vocal emanations. I hear dead people and it's not because there's lots of them here, there's not even enough to make it worth the stay.
I hear dead people because when they talk, it's really worth listening to against all that white noise.
Dead can take care of himself. He always does :)
poor little dead prince. alone in his planet.
Wonder of wonders... this is the entry that's attracting the comments. Eep norman, i get the sinking suspicion you know what i'm talking about. and naughty purple bimbo... don't get me in trouble... hehe...
I worry about Dead. I can't help it.
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