Contemporary.
Some see a glass full of gold,
Some see a glass full of ether.
Euthanized out the litre,
They eat en mass with the reaper.
Platonic with viscosa,
That nova-pass be the preacher,
Aspirin' the youth to toke up,
amass all the reefer—
Cole said it.
If you can't sift through Holy Apostles
Then don't go acting prophetic.
If you can't drift through Roman Epistles
Then don't go actin' moet-ic.
Ironic, can't apprehend it.
Ironic, can't comprehend it.
Ironic, can't juxtapose it.
But I suppose only rolling over beat clothes and dead sofas
Contuse the slews of condonin' loans to hearts that can't afford ta' (to),
Obtuse abstruse,
When you widen angles it shifts their composure.
Just because angles correspond don't mean they share the same closure.
Adjacency's complacency,
Your higher purpose supposed to,
Swirl vortically in vertices,
Feathers of wisdom not covert.
And to many it sounds pathetic when the message ain't overt.
But too many eulogies came up to inspire a sole verse,
Like palpable euphony, our voice inspires the soul search—
That's composure.
Priceless.
Fallen clouds of thought brume below my feet, unsettled the soil, graining all-encumbering heaps like shackles of all-ensnaring dust. It strops along paling skin quivering from wounds inflicted prior.
Wincing & gritting away the pain is futile.
Blood, saps out the wound, dribbles seep down the scars.
Gusts whet— enslaving the mind in an asphyxiating flurry of whips & lashes that settle your unruly temperament.
Take one step forward in defiance of the currents?
You’re dealt with two choices.
Take two steps back,
Or die to its tempestuous torment.
My mind, a sea of rapids
A storm brewing in the distance.
I, a Helmsman,
Pressing my lips against the pendulum of my past,
Before tossing it into the sea as a relic of remembrance.
To sink...
Never to arise again.
Fighting against the demonizing grip of procrastination is an uphill battle I fear I cannot win.
But I fight.
I fight for fighting's sake,
to leave a legacy,
beauty or blemish,
And for my skull to mount the summit of the catacombs when it's all said and done.
Crossroad Blues.
Forgive me, father, for I sin.
Each breath.. entangled in a brume of spite.
I mean well.
I do.
It's why I've amicably come forth with a gilded spirit and an open mind, wishing—hoping—for a remedy.
You summon me before you as a proscenium, my life a dancing intermission in a tragedy, captivating those closest to the arch—the audience a cast of specters, with ghoulish eyes and morbid expressions.
"Go, my son," you tell me, its polytonal dissonance startling my ears at first listen. "Dance to your heart's content, for tis a time of jubilee."
I dance.
I sway to, and fro, pivoting and strutting, each movement an ode to Thee. The percussions of footfall bring about their own tune, serenading the audience in such a way that inspired awe and enthrallment.
I am a languished will, a blossom wilted by solar egression.. your light the brilliant encircement of the luminares, the opulence of chandeliers and familiarity & warmth of a mother.
I am a subjugate to their clamor, a jester lulled into their hide, a false sense of security emanating in their secular stares.
I am no man.
I am weak.
You assure me the dance will end. That there will be no encore.
So why, oh, why, father, do I pity their howls and claps?
Succumb to tears in lieu of your admonishment?
Why do my feet bleed, and my arms ache?
Why, when I bow do I feel the compulsion to vomit out the bile in my intestines, as if it's the only way to muster the agony?
Why do I want to do it all over again?
Transcience.
Reach for the stars: always.
Life is an ephemeral blur. Short-lived. Memories and experiences accrued in effervescent streams, each representating bubbles arising in the foamy landscape of our mind. Why ponder on the evitable avalanche of problems, trials and tribulations, when the inevitable escape from the icy tundra lies just ahead? Why, when it lies in appreciation of our skills and trust in our ability to get to this point? Why do we look onward at the detriments and differences in society, when, as a collective, we cherish very similar values and morals and outlooks. Why, when we are given the gratification of family — if not family, friendship and the value of connecting with other like- or open-minded people; if not friendship, the gift of identity or a sense of self; if not identity, life, existence — do we sink when all prescience on the matter fails?
Happiness does not dwell in the moments we share, but the moments that snatch the breaths out of your throats, and give you a newfound understanding of the world around you. Sadness is the realization of limitations, the conjuring up of one’s shadow. It is the epitome of darkness — but finding happiness in something or someone, is the light.
Empathy.
The heart conflagrates a flame brighter than the sun... The mind wanes as clarifying rays of knowledge divvy in interspersion. To feel is to be flesh; to blur the lines between reality and fantasy our most critical faculty, albeit deeprooted in the spurs of insanity. The ability to imagine is a dual-edged blade elongated by joy, passion, and inspiration, but sharpened just as well by sadness, apathy & leisure. It's our capacity of feel that keens its edges — to empathize and relate to one another as a people, on an individual level. Heart to heart. Like the rich rivulets of magic in the hands of the disciple of man, disciplined & stoic, chiseling beauty out of igneous, and abstracting solutions to life's greatest obstacles, challenging them indefinitely.
Success is the acclimation of joy & attainment. A psychedelic ecstasy, induced by doing something well or to completion, which only increases with the difficulty of the task. It is fundamentally concomitant to an overwhelming sense of reward, achievement. It holds the retrocognition to resonate with our past achievements, encourages our strengths, & validate these experiences. It kickstarts our drive to do more, to push past the odds, perhaps to progress & prevail even when the world turns a blind eye. It's almost unanimously agreeable transcending expectations feels damn good.
To make the naysayers hush; to make those supporting you along the journey proud of who you've become. It's a beautiful feeling that often gets undermined & swept into the aperture of failure — when all things cease to go your way, & life seems to dread your existence as much as those who look down upon you.
Sentimentality as it pertains to happiness is difficult, but integral; understanding others, where they swing along the pendulum on emotion, is the key to contextualizing their mentality.
Treating everyone with the level of respect you want to be treated with is imperative for a greater future, as, it keeps in mind those layers of context often missing from colloquial scenarios, the tides of everyday conversation. At the end of the day, we all want to succeed in this grand monopoly board we call life, where the rich parsimoniously seize their wealth & get richer, while the poor are mentally enslaved to the cyclical toils of life.
You truly never know what the next person is or has been going through.
Even Satan Was An Angel.
"Son of man, take up a lamentation upon the king of Tyrus, and say unto him, Thus saith the Lord God; Thou sealest up the sum, full of wisdom, and perfect in beauty. Thou hast been in Eden the garden of God; every precious stone was thy covering, the sardius, topaz, and the diamond, the beryl, the onyx, and the jasper, the sapphire, the emerald, and the carbuncle, and gold: the workmanship of thy tabrets and of thy pipes was prepared in thee in the day that thou wast created. Thou art the anointed cherub that covereth; and I have set thee so: thou wast upon the holy mountain of God; thou hast walked up and down in the midst of the stones of fire. Thou wast perfect in thy ways from the day that thou wast created, till iniquity was found in thee." - Ezekiel: 12-15. (KJV)
Satan was an angel, embellished in wings of sacred gold and unequivocally precious gems, their brilliance a star-studded night sky, consecrated with a voice so mellifluous, it could sway even the most steadfast angels. He was the mold of perfection, designed to harbor wisdom and that which is beautiful. Even he succumbed to avarice. Even he bit into the forebidden apple.
When the temptation to crave more, to bite the hand that feeds you, becomes an insistent whisper, it takes on the irresistible allure of honey. One lick, and in that honeyed moment, it seals your fate, becoming your ultimate downfall.
Goodbye, Akira Toriyama.
You remember it like it was yesterday.
A small, dingy apartment complex, with wooden floors that creaked and moaned with every step, and lifeless, beige walls bereft of animation.
It's 2 in the morning.
'You should be sleeping, shouldn't you?' You can already hear your mother's stern voice scolding you as you smother the sheets over yourself in consolation.
But, as you glance at the clock, that ceases to matter.
Everything, ceases to matter.
Several minutes go by in apprehensive thought: 'It'll only be for an hour or so.'
Maybe, just maybe, she's finally sound asleep.
You carefully rise from your bed, tip-toeing to the television. Sheer bliss floods your senses, excitement stored for what's to come.
You know what time it is.
You know what's on right now.
Pressing the button, it gives a mechanical click, concomitant to its vintage design, before displaying the familiar, white, jagged lines, like radio static visualized, soon blotted away by a black void.
Then, the sound plays. The channel displays on the bottom of the screen in white text & a gray undertone:
https://youtu.be/XRRlZOWcwUc?si=PR28ljaZRrhymHLk
We all at some point in time felt that joy of innocence. We all believed in our hearts that joy would last forever. That the works we idolize would continue to be produced, continue to change our lives in their own, consecrated ways.
Akira Toriyama taught me one man's vision can bring people together, hand in hand. It fascinates me how for just even a second, people can settle their differences for a common interest. It's even more fascinating how one man can create something so monumental it reshapes our childhoods, blossoms our imagination, & lets them run wild. Akira Toriyama forged gems out of memories, and gold, out of the beauty of creativity.
Dragon Ball Z is a key memory of my childhood. I was a sucker for the high octane battles, the dramatic expressions & scenes, the power-ups. The lessons it's characters have taught me have remained timeless artifacts I carry with me in everyday life.
Goku taught me how to be resilient to the challenge, to reach for the stars even if you fall back to the moon. To prevail against the odds, even when the odds were never particularly in your favor. To adapt, and come to find that love & appreciate towards that thing you are adapting to, no matter how wicked. But to also know you must beat it in the end.
Vegeta taught me the equally important value of honor and downfall of hubris. That absolute power can corrupt absolutely, and a lack of self-realization & self-awareness will only lead you down a road of pain & misery. That we all have our own story: meaning we all have our happy ending, even if it comes unexpectedly, at the cost of your honor. Pride and dignity are a duality that only works when paired together: true, unanimous respect is only obtainable by those who show dignity and are not engulfed by their pride. It is only when he realizes that Goku has reached a pinnacle he couldn’t during the Majin Buu fight, that he takes a true 180 as a character, and we see how even someone as immoral and barbaric as Vegeta can have a heart, too.
Gohan taught me that not everyone with the instincts to fight wants to be placed in that situation. Sometimes, blessings can be a terminal curse, and heightened expectations can often override personal desire. Success is subjective; and just as one’s man trash is another man’s treasure, one man’s nightmare can be another man’s dream. True bliss is often overlooked by potential-seeking — you can build the ideal life that makes you happy, even if it makes the vast majority question your decision-making.
Piccolo taught me that everyone group of people need an anchor, a person who will take on the gritty, difficult, rigorous, and challenging tasks. Someone has to get their hands dirty to dig up the burrow and plant seeds of growth in the group. This was piccolo to the Z Fighters. His value is overlooked by the herculean tasks given to him: but he often times surpasses expectations set and prevails in some aspect. May it be saving Gohan from a blast that could’ve disintegrated him right then & there, or arriving as a main support against a monstrosity like Frieza, or saving 17 from the clutches of Cell. I can go on and on when it comes to piccolo’s value as a supporting cast member.
Tien taught me a similar lesson of the extent to which altruism can help a team as Piccolo. How tenacity and heart can completely turn the tables of a fight to your favor, even if for just a second.
Likewise, Krillin taught me that not everyone is cut for the insurmountable, and that the trials one is put against can be so outlandish from your original perspective you weren’t destined to win in the end. But you keep going. He also brought a sense of comedic relief, often times appearing just to allieve the tension present and bring us back to the reality of the situation.
Dende taught me you can find a place in the hearts of those willing to take you in as one of their own. You will find those special people that bring out the most in you. You will meet those people that see your potential and elevate you to a stature as radiant & acclaimed as them. It’s only just a matter of time & acceptance.
Trunks, Chiaotzu, Bulma, Master Roshi, 17, 18, 16’s Death, Chi Chi, Videl, Hercule, Kid Trunks, Goten. I can rant for hours about these characters and their individual significance in my life.
What Toriyama created wasn’t just art. It wasn't just a cartoon; it was a masterpiece of storytelling that continues to captivate audiences to this day. It was a monument of creativity centered around the simple, general premise of fighting for the fate of the world, even when the odds are stacked against you. It’s simplicity is what made it Dragon Ball, and Goku’s ability to admire & appreciate the qualms of combat even with the galactic weight resting on his shoulders inspires me to this day.
Fly high, Akira Toriyama.
And when I have kids.
And my kids wind up having kids.
Your work will remain as tradition.
As a nostalgic reminder that at some point in their lives, everyone needs a hero.
Memento Mori.
In the end,
There is only death.
It's a concept I've struggled with often. Not necessarily via interpretation or meaning, but fully digesting it. Internalizing it.
The inevitability of death is utterly, brutally terrifying. It's in the idea of a life cut short, the act of achieving & climbing the ladder ascending to your goals, but failing to entirely leave your mark — that is a truly horrifying thought.
I can imagine it is for you, as well.
You stand before the clock of eternity, its design bereft of the usual hands, its flat surface kin to a sun dial. Instead, you yourself serve as its hands, guided by a demiurgic force coursing through you. Every ticking, passing second, a new, monolithic titan is forged from the zephyrs of time — a new being of your subconscious creation. Each, resembling you physically.
What one would fail to realize off first glance: whilst recherche in their own ways, these are just versions of you, manifestations from your different thoughts. Or, rather, what you could become.
You can become your quintessence.
You are the stars beneath the moonlight, & the clouds along the azure horizon.
Everything yet nothing revolves around you; you simply move with the currents & adapt accordingly.
I say this to say to both you and myself: stop wasting time dreading the past. Stop wasting time looking into the future. Stop wasting time investing your energy in the wrong places. If you want things to change, & change for the better — if you want to become the quintessential version of yourself you envision — you have to evolve past that which brought you turmoil & doubt, & rise in the end. Only then will you have mastered the art of stoicism, & find your equilibrium in helpful settings or helpful activities where you normally wouldn't be at or do.
In the end, let us embrace the dance of life, knowing that each step forward is a testament to our resilience and strength. Let us seize the present moment with unwavering determination, forging our path towards greatness with every heartbeat. For in the grand tapestry of existence, our legacy is not measured by the fleeting sands of time, but by the indelible mark we leave on the world. So let us live boldly, love fiercely, and create tirelessly, for memento mori — in the end, there is only the beautiful symphony of a life well-lived.
Excerpt.
ENTER: THE BANISHED ONE...
"You feel it, don't you? That foreboding sense. Our bodies, as animals, naturally recognize what our minds do not, and we listen —
You're too small and weak —
You're too small and weak —
You're too small and weak —
But you can tell that woman to whom you have dedicated your life has grown and will continue to grow... How long do you think you'll be able to stay by her side?"
What is the difference between animals and humans? They are inherently the same, but the convergence of mindlessness and instincts distinguishes the two from humanity. Every creature, be it a Lion, Bear, Hyena, Wolf, or even a Fox... Each possesses souls sculpted for survival in the wild, with desolation and trials etched into their hearts. Every day takes on a unique shape, akin to the experience of every living organism; each leaf is sui generis. Yet, an animal's existence, in particular, is fraught with thorns, a testament to the perilous nature of survival. However, in one aspect, this pales in comparison to humanity's. It's an oval with no sharp edges, yet it bears fissures within its structure; each one a trace of human desire. Each thorn, akin to a blade, both pierces them and is wielded to pierce others. Yet, these are merely fragments of a larger whole — a microcosm of a macrocosm — intertwining yet another facet of life; relationships. These are the situations placed beneath, more specifically, an ecosystem. From their surroundings to their prey and predator, these are the factors that shape the leaves, and ultimately, the creature in question. Such scenarios vary in terms of experience and knowledge, to which the natural amalgamation of the two is compelled to acquiesce, grasping at the light of dynamism and vigor.
The trunk of the tree, the largest part, represents the world as we know it, divided into the first and third worlds. No one can exist without these two worlds, which are vast in concept and impact. The numerous blemishes represent lives lost and transformations over time. Yet, the coldness of the trunk eventually felt the warmth of something. A hand, sausage-like with nails stretching unnaturally to rival even the sharpest knives. The aether within the trunk fluctuated, and the tremors eventually reverberated throughout its entirety. For a fleeting moment, the cells coalesced before the tree's molecular existence succumbed beneath immense strength, crashing down in the middle of the forest. This cleared a path, which was then traversed upon. Under the immense pressure of the foot, the trunk fractured into splinters that couldn't penetrate the skin. What was this entity? With wolves drooping their heads and cats purring in his presence, he possessed a long mane of dark blue hair and a pale body exuding strength.
THE TOP OF THE MOUNTAIN...
"She won't need you anymore once she becomes the peak of the highest mountain, you will know what it feels like to stand above all of creation, and witness its glory, but for some reason, I'm not satisfied, and neither should you. Look up in the sky, there are clouds that appear to be waiting for you to reach out for them, as if I were a painter who had completed his universe masterpiece. Suns and moons appear to belong to you, mirroring your greatness, but the universe should never acquiesce to your grasp."
COME HERE, SAUVAGEON...
"They say that once you reach the peak of the highest mountain, you will know what it feels like to stand above all of creation, and witness its glory, but for some reason, I'm not satisfied, and neither should you. Look up in the sky, there are clouds that appear to be waiting for you to reach out for them, as if I were a painter who had completed his universe masterpiece. Suns and moons appear to belong to you, mirroring your greatness, but the universe should never acquiesce to your grasp."
— 'Knowing too much of your future, though, is never a good thing...'
Nature's hands were as rough as the bark of trees, her voice as brusque as her flourishing ecosystem's wildlife; evanescent streams coated her leaves in springtime dew, rivulets traced structural scriptures along ivy follicles. Donned upon her was naught a body, or pertaining to any typical physical components — she instead bore sentience amidst the evergreens of the world.
And yet: something — someone — seemed to blemish her image.
What was the embodiment of creation & restoration in continuum was merely dwindled down to a crystalline iridescence, a living hell crystallized by her own creation — her children.
Perhaps, there will come a day where, she believed, man would realize his blatant wrongdoings, & rectify his sins dutifully, not out of the inherent imbalance upon the Universal Equilibrium, but out of their own purity in heart. Perhaps, one day, man would accomplish transfiguration through means more befitting, more natural... Perhaps...
There was a day where her ethereal shackles were released, & life would be free from The Curse...
"... Credence... ?"
The boy huffed out groggily. Tumultuous flaps telling of the ave's aggravation found Confucius's eyes flickering with life, idly staring at the ceiling. Crisp zephyr-like breezes sent him into brief shivers, as the bird descended before its master's right arm as it was perched up, prompting him to lacksadasically heave himself up into a sit.
His affluence preceded him in the manifold exorbitant marble chiseled into the walls & floors. Had a guest approached just this space alone, they'd be inclined to believe the Empress has come to visit: couch robed in carmine, tailored suits by the dozens held on racks neatly filed along carbon steel poles; chandeliers garnishing the ceiling.
The parrot itself was a walking juxtaposition, the elephant in the room; razor-sharp talons clenched ahold of its master's bare flesh, as its rigid beak malignantly crept open. It seemed lifeless; its feathers held a grave tint of black, with scrapes & bruises all over its skin, & a turquoise undertone that seemed to bleed off with every feather withered away by time.
"M-Master...!" It croaked out. It's voice was oddly dissonant — utterly dissatisfying to the ears, like the cackles of a hyena. "He's near! He's near! The Acolyte..."
"Mm..." Confucius's gaze settled upon the glossy chandelier illuminating the room directly above his head for what felt like minutes. Glints of its brilliance shimmered in his eyes, condensing into teal orbitals which serenely shed their moonlight — one of which concealed beneath a lofty bunch of hair. Treading through time seemed like wading through the aforementioned waters of Gaia, desperately searching for an item within the bosom of her seas — one must first recognize their environment, & then proceed with dear & utter caution. His perception, sense of awareness in the present, diminished completely; replacing it was a blurred lens of sight, followed by the warping of space around him, as though forcing it to accommodate to his demands. Upon relinquishing his sense of 'the present', his teal hues intensified further, before emerging within his scleras like bubbles bursting open his sockets — for a moment, the light was too intense for him to part visually. Only seconds later, however, the view crystallized before his very eyes:
A boyish freak bearing jaded fur & skin, & domineering feline pupils. His ascension high into the empyreans was laudable, as, it bespoke the truth before ready ears; the higher he rose, the more unadulaterated Aether actualized before him, sprawled across whole land-masses. Carcasses were also prevalent, as was death, itself: slaughtered cattle & livestock remains festered with a hyper-bacterial radiation which spread like a plague, notable by the green musk it released, like a vividly foul fragrance, crimson residue stained trees & even whole lakes... Confucius's ethereal body squatted alongside Sava — unbeknownst to him, a frown crept upon the boy's face, as the words poured out of his heart: "Now you see the world for what she truly is: a damn landfill."
Wisps of light continued to seep out of Confucius's eyes even after shutting them the moment ensuing. His utterance was directed toward the monstrosity on his arm. "Your prescience will be rewarded..."
"... Fetch the others for me — The Emperor, especially. In fact..."
A toothy grin configured from sully lips.
"Sound the alarm."
"I want him to acknowledge his impending doom."
He glanced over at the wall farthest south: silver mantles of decapitated heads were kemptly lined up, with the only vacant spot holding writing etched into it:
ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴀɴɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴᴇ.
Lub Dub.
Upon his master's request, the bird soared off into the distance, rising seemingly into the paper-thin clouds — a sight which even Sava was possibly aware of, even slightly, some sixteen miles away — before its beak unhinged once more. The accumulation of air into its body was at first subtle, but soon forced clouds to hurriedly drift away as bashful gales swept across the skies, at the epicenter a crimson figure, its Aether brimming over the azure pigment, assimilating it within the ambience. What soon followed was as startling as the unholy sight, itself — in a screeching bellow, it emitted a shockwave which encompassed the empyreans, erupting in a crimson flash of light & sound before traveling outwardly elsewhere.
Lub Dub.
As terse as it was, it alarmed The Banished King of one thing: something was out for blood. In the midst of reminiscence, Sauvageon's predatory senses began tingling, producing light tremors which trembled mostly toward his left. Every waning second exacerbated the feeling, applying supple amounts of intensity like necessary palpitations to one's heart for means of survival.
Lub Dub.
For once, this sudden bodily rush was naught based off his natural instinct to kill... No.
Lub Dub.
It was his body willing him to survive, as the threat treaded closer & closer. A voice pervaded across Sauvageon's mindscape, parallel to another conscience telekinetically hijacking one's open field of mind. It arrived abruptly, its aborigine out of sight — but never out of mind...
"You don't seem to get it yet, do you, Acolyte of War?"
Intrusively, its monotone was like a rumbling rummaging through his thoughts, bifurcating its advanced fortitude as a show of mockery rather than imminent danger, as though the predatory at hand yearned to play with his food before delivering the final strike...
"In a life where everything is uncertain, peace is never promised."
"You shouldn't have come up here..."
"神の矢筒 | Kami No Yadzutsu —"
"Divine Quiver."
The trajectory of an arrow isn't just its path; it's a delicate balance of power, skill, and precision. From its release to its impact, every aspect of its flight is meticulously calculated, guided by the technique of the marksman and the force behind its launch. In Sauvageon's hands, enhanced by Divine Quiver and Active Aether, an arrow becomes a weapon of unparalleled potency.
As the arrow finds its mark with deadly accuracy, Sauvageon reacts swiftly, propelling himself out of harm's way. Yet, even as he dodges one threat, another emerges—a foreign signal warning of a new danger. Caught off guard, Sauvageon finds himself vulnerable, out of position for the next assault.
In a dramatic turn of events, Sauvageon faced a barrage of coordinated attacks that threatened to overwhelm him. As he dodged an arrow aimed at his very mind, he sensed the presence of a hidden assailant nearby, their scent guiding his instincts. On the adjacent mountainside, a skilled bowman unleashed a flurry of shots, each arrow charged with crackling levin energy, hurtling towards Sauvageon with deadly accuracy.
Meanwhile, a trio of cloaked figures emerged from the shadows, their intentions shrouded in mystery. With eyes pulsating with an eerie glow of avarice, the central figure unleashed a fearsome technique known as "Shatter To Reform." The levin-charged arrows amalgamated into a dazzling cube of electrified glass shards, fragments of the arrows. As if that wasn't enough, another figure reinforced the cube with a chilling layer of ice, amplifying its destructive potential to unimaginable levels.
Caught in the midst of this onslaught, Sauvageon's combat prowess was put to the ultimate test as he struggled to evade the lethal trap closing in around him. With lightning-fast reflexes and a keen survival instinct, he fought to overcome the overwhelming odds stacked against him in this thrilling battle for survival.
I Wonder.
True love, ineffable, eludes description,
Only within its embrace do its depths unfold.
In the park, a scene of ethereal enchantment,
Midst the brumal zephyrs of early spring,
You, shivering for dear warmth,
Narcolepsy casting you under its trance.
Do you remember?
Nodding in and out of the moment,
Until our eyes intertwined,
Igniting a flame latent, dormant, reassuring.
Do you remember?
Your gaze, a cascade of chocolate,
Glinting in the moon's tender light,
Rain pittering, a symphony above,
The prelude to our magnum opus.
Your smile, radiant, surreal.
It entrapped me in your world.
The scent of fresh lavender,
The saccharine of honey.
You, my life raft in turbulent waters,
The guide through life's labyrinthine trials.
We began as spectators,
Unaware our destinies would entwine,
Unaware our hearts would beat in unison.
And yet, in the end,
We cared not for the stains of infidelity
Upon our blossoming roses and violets.
Do you remember?
When I draped my jacket over your shoulders,
A coronation of our love.
The night, our playground,
Youthful and naïve,
Believing it would never end.
But mere months later,
Your petals scattered like doves,
Your stem withered into ash,
Leaving behind a specter of the girl I once knew.
May you remember me
As I remember you,
Your legacy etched in my soul.