The sky sheds tears and as I contemplate the meaning of this existence, I come to realize why we revel in rain soaked streets. Strange creatures with no dearth of passion, yet we choose to succumb to our worst fears and assume fatalistic images resembling something we don’t want to be. Miasmic longings and echoes of the moon. Death and destruction. Such brokenness in our bones that even they can’t help but cry in grief. We’re all birds with broken wings. Weighed down by thoughts that chase the shafts of golden sunlight far, far away from us. Voices call us at 3 a.m. and all those memories which were once infused with sweet chants of nostalgia get crushed to powder. Our doing is our undoing. And our undoing? Probably worse. Misery waits for no one. Pain and hurt are words crafted from the same scarlet hue of bleeding hearts.
But maybe, Just maybe, there’s something still left in us. Even after all this time. Some call it hope. Some call it love. I call it Music. Sunshine. Coffee. Laughter. Snowflakes. Leaves. I call it the unceasing disease of optimism. It’s an affliction that lasts a lifetime. Yes, mock me for being unrealistic but that’s all we have left. You and I, we need to fall down a rabbit hole, not to enter a wonderland with dreamy landscapes and scents of primroses, but to find our way back to the world we want. Instead of gnawing at the mind’s division between reality and fantasy, I want you to meet me where the two horizons fuse together and create a new dawn with a bleeding sun and nights with stars that outshine every luminescent entity ever known to mankind. I want you to inhale a lungful of this absolute oxygen and remind yourself that you’re here for a reason. I want you to gulp down this reality of yours and make your atoms dance to the tunes of cosmic lullabies that sing to you of a brighter morrow. And maybe, just maybe, the aftertaste of your real world won’t be so bitter one day. Maybe you’ll taste the stars one day and be with them at last, because my love, that’s where you belong.