Passing through
At the end of the day, maybe we are only passing through (life).
I told you once we are only just passing time.
So maybe I should stand still with my soul ablaze. Maybe I should stand still as I fall in love with the thought of you, the ghost of your body, the thought of fire warming up your hands, your heart when it’s broken, your mind when it’s dark and it’s cold and you are shaken. We’ll dance in my head the way two people dance when they know their lips can’t meet but their souls are already intertwined. You’ll know I’m there cause even your skin will smell of my skin, even your eyes will feel like mine as you stare at strangers passing by. Your thoughts will bear tattoos of my name, the imprints of my thoughts, the pieces of my puzzle. I’ll break apart to piece myself for you together so you can know what I’m made of. And I’ll do this slowly. As if time is melting away into infinity, as if the only thing ticking this time round is our hearts – a slow, consistent beat, ticking, slow as the cracking of wood burning. We’ll go slow in my head, dancing to the same beat still, following the same steps, a sequence of circles and no triangles, only smooth curves and no sharp edges.
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Maybe we are only passing through each other’s lives.
I feel it is intensity most of us fear the most. This elusive sense of permanence when we know deep down that all this is just a speedy dream, a flash of life, a short passage through the inconceivable measure of never-ending time. I knew it scared you to see my guts were on fire. I tried to conceal the spark in my eye, the movement in my hips and all that music, the beating drums, the soft piano notes, the screaming guitars, the loud laughter, the sharp tongue that breaks bones and mends them with the same accuracy.
I’ve never been one to go for soft brush strokes. Always holding my pen firmly between my fingers, writing my own stories. With bold letters and never any intention to scribble over my mistakes. You should know I take pride in the permanence of those mistakes that make us human. That I sign with blood red ink underneath both the dark and light parts of this painting I somewhat accidentally and somewhat purposefully put together.
You should know I could have loved every part of whatever happens on your canvas. And that I would have thrown all my colours at you if just you let me try. And that we’d have laughed it all off cause what is life but the messy passing of time.
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Maybe we are all just passing by.
In our short time here, looking for someone who wants to play. Looking for someone who knows there’s nothing but chaos in the universe, in our universe, in whatever it is that makes us who we are today. Looking for someone who knows that despite the rules of the game, it is always the unexpected moments that we remember every time round.
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I wanted to surprise you in every round.
Maybe I just wanted you to know that it’s you I wanted to pass time with. And that despite all the fire, I know how to swim against the tide and how to let you float. How to surrender to the thought that everything one day slips through our fingers.
I’ve learned it too well that whatever we have we lose.
But the fire in my guts – in case you didn’t notice – is my fuel.
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I deal with loss as it comes but till then I enjoy the ride.
So maybe I am just one of those who enjoy the adrenaline. The spikes of pleasure, the rush of sugar high.
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But, friend, if we are only passing through isn’t it worth it to enjoy the ride? Wouldn’t you agree that it’s okay to burn when the only other alternative is getting by?
I could pass by tonight. If you left the door (of your heart) unlocked, I’d come and warm you up tonight. I could pass by if you wanted me to. But now you don’t want me to, of course I’ll close the door behind.
True some of us have more fire to distribute, but in the end we are all just passing by.
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Starry night over the Rhone – Vincent van Gogh
PS: ‘I am as constant as a Northern Star. Constantly in the darkness.’
Rational Artist 