January 09, 2014

1329 days. 31 896 hours. 1 913 760 minutes.

Memory fades... it is meant like that for a reason. However, to this story, there is no reason, no proven science, no foolproof logic… and the memories remain.

1329 days passed. 31 896 hours or 1 913 760 minutes, and still, your story continues to fold into mine.

Dates became these time-full numbers that agitate the memories I tried to kill when I killed you in my imaginary world.

Dates turned out to be mementos I couldn't tear off of my spirit, relics of a long lost time I didn't want to let linger like it still does…

Dates converted into memorial services of all that we once were, from the day we first met and went dancing, to the moment I last saw your face, disheartened and weary.

Measuring time became a cruel task, a punishing job when looking back shows me a dark paradise deciding the halfhearted future that rests before my eyes.

Of those minutes, that are now left behind since the day my eyes first encountered yours, I don’t know how many I spent thinking your hand was still tightly grabbing mine.

Of those countless hours, I know I wasted too many daydreaming about you in my arms.

Of those days, which can already be counted in years, I know there wasn’t one that went by that I didn't imagine your smell, your face or the shiver you caused my spirit every time I could feel your warm breath down the line of my neck.

To this day, it is still your smile that I remember when the storm settles inside of me... that genuine curve of your lips, your big eyes smiling along, semi-closed with an almost childish spark to it, lightening up all the angles of your face. It still is the warm memory of that smile that lulls me back to sleep when the nights seems to want me awake. 

As time passed and feelings kept strong I had to decide, for the sake of my own heart, that you had to go... I had to let go. It seems, though, that a conflict will always be present…
In my rational mind I killed you and made you inexistent to me, and yet, you persist in the depths of my emotions and I couldn't ever help but save your love as a keepsake. 

I became these battles and, just like humanity was born from conflict, I am now made of the sum of all these struggles I stage both with others and with my own self.

I am not only the mellow, understanding spirit I try to nurture day to day, but also the enraged pitbull, too attached to the lost owner of its soul and desperately seeking for any survival instinct there may be lurking within.

It became a world of discrepancies, clashes, wars… killing or remembering, rage or love, you or me. 

In the middle of all this recurrent turbulence it seems, at times, that my life became but a continuous poem to you, this endless mournful song counting all the days you were not there and that ended up being all the days that I longed for you…

It feels that my whole existence is now solely this never-ending, somber elegy; an ode marking the date that never lost its meaning, when my soul achingly exploded in a million tiny pieces, each only a fraction of their whole self, each fighting to find again a way to complete themselves with each other, searching frantically for you... for their lost part. 

And as my soul searches, I start drowning in the emptiness of what I (can't) find…

"I run East until it turned into West
I walked the gravel to the snow, to the sea
But I found nothing that could look back in me
I found nothing that could look back in me
And I am as empty as the day I left
Before I came back home to you."

                                                    Jeffrey Martin