He is as elusive as any rainbow, as unattainable as
any star. Between parting smiles, thoughts will wander, linger, invent. What
hopes and wishes can pass between the empty space. A search for longing, a
desire to own, the need to possess is overwhelming. Yet he stands too aloof, so
far away. He will be waiting for you. He will stand there forever until you
turn around and answer his call, meet his gaze with yours. Though the
surrounding rhythms of life beat ever louder; who can walk away from the sadness,
the loneliness in his face.
He can never know what anyone else feels. He cannot
be expected to guess, to create. It will never be too late for him; the time
shall never run out for him – though we are left out of breath trying to keep
up with life.
He is alone, a wanderer, a fragment broken off from
the whole. He will return in echoes of thunder. He will speak in nightmares of
hell. He will live in a world clouded by tears. What can he do?
He looks heavenward, but sees no glory there. The
light fails itself, broken by its own weight, and he in turn collapses under
the pressure of an empty world. He turns up the music to shut out the sound of
an ever present lift, a continued existence which he can never be part of. He
dreamed in black and white, saw colour only in the words that never touched his
ears, the hands that never met his, the eye that are blind.
It was a sort of fear that possessed him. An
enclosing darkness, a suffocating fog. As part of existence he wished to be
severed from, he lived. Amongst dying dreams, fading hopes, he passed by.
He probably never knew that she loved him too.
