Skip navigation

star

“The thing which was waiting was on the alert, it has pounced on me, it flows through me, I am filled with it. It’s nothing: I am the Thing. Existence, liberated, detached, floods over me. I exist.
I exist. It’s sweet, so sweet, so slow” – Jean-Paul Sarte, Nausea

Solemn black fingers stretching from room to room, a shadow’s love that has no reflection. The heart, once pumping with volcanic blood, now cold and barren as she glides through her own world, paying no notice, returning no gesture.

Faint.

Whisper.

Into the dark morning march tired thoughts, little soldiers birthed of a once glorious idealism: true love, a love both boundless and exact, given and received between two ambrosial stars.

Then a flicker, a dimming. A star goes silent in this passionate cosmos, leaving the other to burn empty for an eternity of nothingness. A ghost star. A dead soul, hanging on to the hope that this true love will be reignited and scorch away these memories and this loneliness.

A hand held out, yet not taken. A kiss given, yet not felt.

But then, a pulse… not from the silent star of her, but from the still-burning star of him. A recognition. This isn’t the end. It can never be the end. The true love still burns in this one, however alone, it still burns.

Quietly, with humble promise.

It’s sweet, so sweet, so slow.

[bk]

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: