Ritardando

Delicate steps into the darkening shadows bid their fading farewell. With the growth of the latter, the diminishing yet rigid staccato on the moistened pavement all the more defines that gaze levelled into nothingness.

Is it a wonder that everything turns lurid with the creeping growth of the distance between us? Is it a wonder then that everything else elegant and vivid gets drowned in a flurry of thoughts, a comma slowly consuming hope and what remains of it?

I would know better than to infringe the fragrant hyacinths soaked in the seething haze of uncertainty as words rendered meaningless no matter how they are strung, spliced, juggled or juxtaposed?

Is it a wonder then that when parallel lines stretch across a system of eternities, they cross somewhere among the heavens beyond the senses of the universe, only to be brought back in this realm in the sparkle of your teary eyes? Then one by one crystal droplets fall, slowly streaking down your delicate cheeks like meteorites on a clear summer night.

I definitely know better than to burden the moon and the stars as poets have tirelessly done so in the past. At least the latter have come to pass leaving a legacy of opuses to ransom the exhaustion of the former. I have nothing but a painstaking of a lifetime ahead of me leaving me with a negligible possibility at one.

I definitely would know better than to leave everything up to the heavens. Not only because infallibility was never the gods’ gift to humanity, not only because silence is forcefully more defeaning but more importantly because of the simple yet unmistakable realization that struck me this time.

I was wrong.

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