Predictably, your ghost arrives to watch this sunset with me. The amber rays shimmering in the dusk light tickle the clouds into a satisfied post coital glow. I was alone, waiting for someone to meet me and my life is once again in a muddle of a puddle. However it doesn’t bother me because the sunset is beautiful and as we enjoy it, the incessant plague that is life momentarily cannot entwine me with it‘s ever-present worries.
I wish you weren’t here to melancholise my enjoyment of it, but other ghosts have arrived to sit with me. Too many to dismiss. With all these ghosts, how can I feel alone. Except they aren’t watching the sunset like you are. Their non existent eyes are observing me, perhaps judging. Who can ever ascertain the motivations of a ghost? Of the ethereal?
As the clouds languorously cuddle up to one another to share their warmth I’m startled by the realisation that I exist with you now as a ghost, a memory, in a past tense. To be conscious, to know of ones existence can never be in the present, but always by reflection in the previous aimed towards the past. My conscious self perhaps also a ghost.
I reach out for your hand, to touch you through this realisation but my hand passes through yours. Ghosts cannot touch. You continue to watch the sunset, oblivious. Ghosts cannot feel. I wish you were here to comfort and take away the pain, however ghosts cannot comprehend another’s need, only their own.
For a timeless moment the reflections of my life lead me to another crossroad. I don’t just give up this time and turn back, instead picking a new direction, a new path, although still a coward by my own admission of fear in that perhaps I‘m making another wrong turn. My life seems to be riddled with them. I wish you were here to see how brave I can be now, how I now fight instead of flight.
But to do that I had to choose the path that led me away from you while you chose not to give chase or protest. I stopped hating you for that a long time ago, but the hurt hasn’t lessened. I don’t want it to and I cannot blame you because I wouldn’t have followed the me that was either. Perhaps you knew that it was something that had to happen.
I’m different now; harder; better; faster; stronger, around the world. Yet no more at peace than before. I want to touch your hand again, but ghosts can neither touch nor feel so I turn back and enjoy my sunset, forgetting your presence momentarily.
I have always maintained that nothing is eternal, yet there are constants that have survived the ravages of my fluidic existence:
1. My love of sunsets.
2. My desire to learn.
3. My loneliness.
4. My inability to blend in.
5. My incomprehensible shame.
Soon my friend will arrive and my momentary existence will be over. I will return to the unreal real and the real unreal will vanish. The remnants that you have become, that everyone I know will eventually turn into, those that stare at me now, will all return to the ether along with my conscious awareness. I don’t want you to go because this is all I have left of you, this translucent profile of you staring into the sunset, enjoying it.
6. My enjoyment of watching you enjoy
I wish you weren’t here to melancholise my enjoyment of it, but other ghosts have arrived to sit with me. Too many to dismiss. With all these ghosts, how can I feel alone. Except they aren’t watching the sunset like you are. Their non existent eyes are observing me, perhaps judging. Who can ever ascertain the motivations of a ghost? Of the ethereal?
As the clouds languorously cuddle up to one another to share their warmth I’m startled by the realisation that I exist with you now as a ghost, a memory, in a past tense. To be conscious, to know of ones existence can never be in the present, but always by reflection in the previous aimed towards the past. My conscious self perhaps also a ghost.
I reach out for your hand, to touch you through this realisation but my hand passes through yours. Ghosts cannot touch. You continue to watch the sunset, oblivious. Ghosts cannot feel. I wish you were here to comfort and take away the pain, however ghosts cannot comprehend another’s need, only their own.
For a timeless moment the reflections of my life lead me to another crossroad. I don’t just give up this time and turn back, instead picking a new direction, a new path, although still a coward by my own admission of fear in that perhaps I‘m making another wrong turn. My life seems to be riddled with them. I wish you were here to see how brave I can be now, how I now fight instead of flight.
But to do that I had to choose the path that led me away from you while you chose not to give chase or protest. I stopped hating you for that a long time ago, but the hurt hasn’t lessened. I don’t want it to and I cannot blame you because I wouldn’t have followed the me that was either. Perhaps you knew that it was something that had to happen.
I’m different now; harder; better; faster; stronger, around the world. Yet no more at peace than before. I want to touch your hand again, but ghosts can neither touch nor feel so I turn back and enjoy my sunset, forgetting your presence momentarily.
I have always maintained that nothing is eternal, yet there are constants that have survived the ravages of my fluidic existence:
1. My love of sunsets.
2. My desire to learn.
3. My loneliness.
4. My inability to blend in.
5. My incomprehensible shame.
Soon my friend will arrive and my momentary existence will be over. I will return to the unreal real and the real unreal will vanish. The remnants that you have become, that everyone I know will eventually turn into, those that stare at me now, will all return to the ether along with my conscious awareness. I don’t want you to go because this is all I have left of you, this translucent profile of you staring into the sunset, enjoying it.
6. My enjoyment of watching you enjoy
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