Prescient Mirage

Monday, October 2nd 2017

This is the first day where I can see the line clearly drawn in the sand. It was there since before we met but like a dog fascinated by his own reflection in a mirror, we've both managed to counter this division by willingly trespassing its implied boundary out of simple, unbridled curiosity.

A miracle happened the other day, when I've somehow managed to breach through time and space to stab you directly in the heart. It was the perfect crime, too : I could easily take a step back and walk away without any repercussions as it was a clean hit delivered from half-a-world away. Your blood gushed out of the wound, accumulating in a dark puddle which crept slowly outward. I did not move as I knew that these silent waves would never lap at my heels. I've watched your body drop to the floor, and your soul shatter upon impact, your last line of defense annihilated by such an unexpected, traitorous attack.

Even if my heart aches from seeing the result of this subconscious slash, I can do nothing to atone for my actions. I stand there and watch you bleed, blade still warm from the strike. My expression is one of somber resignation. If only I had done it to teach a lesson, to prove a point but no : my unchained and blind greed was the only driving force behind the fatal thrust.

The blame is not yours to bear as your intentions were pure. The dark ritual you've unwittingly conducted, this shamanic exchange taking place in our mutual subconscious bore a hefty price indeed. Helpless, panicked and confused as the last remnants of sanity seep out with your last few breaths, you tell me to leave you be.

In a vain attempt to soften the blow, I launch into a wild dance of self-justification and mockery, as a jester might test the limits of his king's tolerance for his dutiful insubordination. The words are useless as you are now immune to the subtle poison which flows through every one of them, even the well-meaning ones.

To bring silence to my spectral retreat, in another selfish act, I consulted the Oracle, flipped my coin eighteen times, seeking some sort of absolution from the laws which govern the ebb and flow of the universe.
Even the Oracle suggest that I lay low, going so far as to claim that I might not need its divination anymore.
I can respect a self-defeating fortune-teller. I can also appreciate that even if it seems that my actions are beneath contempt, even in the eyes of the gods of mischief and chance, it is fate itself that casts me out today.

I pick up the guitar and strum a few simple notes, purposefully refusing to learn anything new through my playing. All I want is to get to the next bar, the next minute, the next moment when you`ll grant me an audience so as to plead my return to the land of flesh. The notes are expected, predictable and banal yet I keep strumming on a steady beat, slow and methodical, like the clock counting down the seconds that push us farther apart.

Your promise of forgiveness was heard but I know better; we've witnessed our end, together.
I've gotten everything I wanted, a proof of our love, an indelible scar which I must never forget.