In a whirl of abstract hues and fragmented thoughts, I existed – suspended in anticipation, a silhouette against the undefined. Now, clarity descends, crystalline and sharp; I await you. You, the essence of my endless musings, as eternal as the stars, untouchable, unvanishing. The tragedy? I am bereft of hope (a lie whispered to the night, every dawn’s light nurturing the illusion of your return, attributing to a clairvoyance, a belief in precognitive visions, convincing myself of futures glimpsed in dreams).
In countless imagined dialogues, forgiveness flows from you like a stream, though I remain a specter, not living, scarcely breathing, a nonentity waiting for salvation, smoldering like an abandoned vehicle, tires shredded, in winter’s embrace. Self-pity engulfs me, a maelstrom of despair; I acknowledge my pitiful existence, an author of my demise. “Never return,” I implore, for in your absence, I’ve discerned the true extent of my affliction – a punishment undeserved by you, an endurance test of my presence.
And yet, amidst the cacophony of my self-loathing, a sliver of redemption beckons – the notion that perhaps, through the last embers of compassion within, I could breathe life into a soul spent, particularly yours.
The memory of a cold, paradoxically warm breath fills me with longing, a bitter sweetness that once was mine.
Restore to me my essence, my so-called water-fairy.
Conclude my odyssey, let this be the crescendo of my existential symphony, a final plea for absolution, for peace.
