Part 3: Those whispers that got lost...
Those whispers of love that I kissed her lips with…
To watch her crescent-eyes morph
To twin orbs of the lovely moon
No matter how hard I plead with Time, no matter what I offered to stave off his onslaught, he still does it. He still tramples all over the garden in the East that we have had lived in and tended to. He threatens to drive me out almost every other day, you know? The garden that you and I used to live in, together, such bliss we had everyday. The wondrous flora that fills the air with amazing scents. And those trees! They were so pleasing to the eye and carried all kinds of food! With those trees we needn’t starve, you know? Jane and I just had to tend to it.
But now I already don’t remember much.
Not all of the two years we spent together. There seems to be missing pieces of my memory, pieces of a puzzle that I cannot recall no matter how hard I try. Did I delete them from my memory in an effort to repress those shards of broken glass from piercing my heart? That pulsating mass of redness which everyone seeks to protect from the alien bodies that intrude first into the outer shell, then slithering through the inner walls into that red mass. That alien thing which we call love, can it really be that destructive? It always leaves behind a slimy trail of pain after it has fed on the red mass. Nothing left behind.
But I digress.
As I was saying, I don’t remember much of the time that we had spent together. To be sure, there are both happy times and sad times. I can hardly remember where we shared our first kiss. As hard as I try to remember anything concerning her, it seems to evade my grasp.
But slowly, it comes to me. I can remember the scene where I first held her hand, under the comfort of darkness where I couldn’t see her face and neither could she mine. All the better to hide our embarrassment under. Where no prying faces could see the torrent of emotions that I was struggling to hold back but failed.
Like now, how my composure fails me as another torrent of emotions threatens to overwhelm me again. As it failed me before, so will it fail me again. How could I suffer under the gaze of Augustine, to turn my thoughts away from nature and nature’s appetites, when my very nature was to love wholeheartedly! One might as well ask the nightingale to stop chirping!
Where the first one was a promulgation of undying love, now this is a call of despair, the call of the dying lovebird calling out for his other half. And as that other half took the first step into the doors of Hades, so does this half, for one could never do without the other.
Those first moments of love I can still remember without any difficulty. I can remember the heart-stopping moment when our lips first locked, signing that pact to love each other forever. Her eyes, growing big with emotions. I could almost see myself reflected in those orbs of hers. How mesmerising it was. That infantile moment of pleasure, those spasms of happiness that ran through our spines couldn’t be false, could it?
But now everything seemed so illusionary, as if I had never met her before. The people that we knew acted as if they had never met her before. For them, life went on as usual. Everyone started avoiding me when they realised that all I wanted to talk about was Jane. I think they had enough of my moping around. But I couldn’t help it, I missed her so bad.
And now here she was, standing down there right in front of me. Perhaps it may be a figment of my imagination but at least, I got to see her in the flesh. For a while.
But now I already don’t remember much.
Not all of the two years we spent together. There seems to be missing pieces of my memory, pieces of a puzzle that I cannot recall no matter how hard I try. Did I delete them from my memory in an effort to repress those shards of broken glass from piercing my heart? That pulsating mass of redness which everyone seeks to protect from the alien bodies that intrude first into the outer shell, then slithering through the inner walls into that red mass. That alien thing which we call love, can it really be that destructive? It always leaves behind a slimy trail of pain after it has fed on the red mass. Nothing left behind.
But I digress.
As I was saying, I don’t remember much of the time that we had spent together. To be sure, there are both happy times and sad times. I can hardly remember where we shared our first kiss. As hard as I try to remember anything concerning her, it seems to evade my grasp.
But slowly, it comes to me. I can remember the scene where I first held her hand, under the comfort of darkness where I couldn’t see her face and neither could she mine. All the better to hide our embarrassment under. Where no prying faces could see the torrent of emotions that I was struggling to hold back but failed.
Like now, how my composure fails me as another torrent of emotions threatens to overwhelm me again. As it failed me before, so will it fail me again. How could I suffer under the gaze of Augustine, to turn my thoughts away from nature and nature’s appetites, when my very nature was to love wholeheartedly! One might as well ask the nightingale to stop chirping!
Where the first one was a promulgation of undying love, now this is a call of despair, the call of the dying lovebird calling out for his other half. And as that other half took the first step into the doors of Hades, so does this half, for one could never do without the other.
Those first moments of love I can still remember without any difficulty. I can remember the heart-stopping moment when our lips first locked, signing that pact to love each other forever. Her eyes, growing big with emotions. I could almost see myself reflected in those orbs of hers. How mesmerising it was. That infantile moment of pleasure, those spasms of happiness that ran through our spines couldn’t be false, could it?
But now everything seemed so illusionary, as if I had never met her before. The people that we knew acted as if they had never met her before. For them, life went on as usual. Everyone started avoiding me when they realised that all I wanted to talk about was Jane. I think they had enough of my moping around. But I couldn’t help it, I missed her so bad.
And now here she was, standing down there right in front of me. Perhaps it may be a figment of my imagination but at least, I got to see her in the flesh. For a while.
Ave Maria :23:55
3 comments
3 Comments:
This is an interesting piece. As I read further into it, one movie came to mind: "The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind".
One of Jim Carrey's more serious films, this movie is a satirical take on what you have just described. It begs and explores the ultimate question: What if i could erase a person away from my memory and my life?
Your choice of words and forms of expressions reminded me too of someone else. Hugo Weaving. He's the dude in Matrix - and most recently, the voice behind V for Vendetta.
Or should I say, as I was swept away by his aristocratical debonair and flawless diction, you came to mind?
Wow! I thought of that movie too, "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind". Though I didn't come across the V for Vendetta connection, I can see how the commenter before me can do so with such ease.
I suppose personal experience was the second largest connection I was able to make. These red pulsating masses within us do seem to endure much more pain than any external parts of our bodies ever experience throughout the length of our lifetimes; I'd almost venture to say that I'd be a fool to NOT think that everyone can, will or perhaps even should relate to this pain as part of the experience of being human.
Either way, I think you reflected both the exhilerating highs of love at its greatest of grandeurs as well as the pits of despair it can just as easily cast us into when it shatters and abandons us.
Once again, I'm highly impressed.
Jeff
Thank you Jeff/Sise.
Those comments were pretty insightful since I basically write where my feelings take me.
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