The Erosion

It’s a vacuum. The moment that had led to this free fall seems like from another life altogether. I don’t even remember how many days it had been since I last felt solid ground under my feet. The endless abyss and the weightlessness of my dreams has been conjuring mindless realities that I can’t identify with any longer. People I had known all my life look at me as if they are seeing me for the first time. I guess it is about time I forget these faces and let my mind paint me new ones to talk to.

I have felt abstract and distant from my own being before but there is an infinite mourning to this hopelessness now. It feels, as if I have exhausted my final chance at the dice and now waiting at the table to see the result of the throw only the dice continues to roll endlessly and never stop. It seems as if my whole life has been a bad dream sequence and I am waiting for someone to come and wake me up.

I don’t recognize this half-inebriated man who looks at me with blood shot eyes from the mirror. Perhaps the real me was lost on an endless road into the mountains long ago. I don’t cease to crave a final flight but at the same time I don’t feel the motivation to pull my feathers together and make the effort as well. Maybe the easiest escape is to sit by my window and fix my gaze at the sky outside and talk about how magnificent a flight into the setting sun would be, without making an attempt to walk out and spread my wings that is.

I believe giving up on someone and accepting the situation is essentially the same thing. It’s just a way of how you can convince yourself to a monotonous, aimless existence – whiling away time before the reaper comes looking. The cold bones are brittle and the roar that once boiled the blood is nothing more than a meek whimper with surrender written all over its face.

I haven’t fought many battles, haven’t stood up for many issues and have not even attempted many a brave feats but I have dabbled with my emotions on more than one occasion, have led explorations into the depths of my own consciousness and climbed the peaks of my own vices and misgivings and have often won against them. My battered soul may not have achieved nirvana or met my master in a trance yet but it certainly wears a lot of scars earned during these conflicts between what I have believed in and what the world outside has represented. My reference frame is my own and I have not followed a sect or a path without questioning it and I have always been proud of this one thing about myself. Others don’t see it as much of an achievement but I know it will definitely amount to something when I finally become a part of this universe.

To those who come after me, carrying my name I will perhaps not leave an inheritance or a legacy to speak of other than these few words. Perhaps someday, someone will come along these and interpret these to some meaning. Till the time my body is washed ashore, I continue to float on these squandered waves, feeling the saline water burn the corners of any protruding edges in my being. The erosion is slow but definite and I move on to another moment of another hour of another day of another week…