Literary escapades

Some writings are carefully crafted work of art. Others are raw emotional splashes on a canvas, seemingly devoid of purpose or logic. They blind and disturb by its outright force poured over whatever medium is used. Some appeal to our intellect and others to the deep recesses of hidden inner self, buried underneath all the inhibitions of social expectations, waiting to see the day of light, breathe air and live, if only for a passing moment. As if somebody has suddenly started playing an elaborate music piece on a violin with the nerves instead of strings. Invisible echoes coming from within, respond to the sound, trying to move in unison. And failing, miserably, longing to keep up, fascinated with the mere thought of it. Images, haunting in their exuberant elegance, painted in smallest details when words are felt all the way through, playfully innocent and all the way stirring sleeping monsters deep down, ruffling imaginary feathers and not giving any answers to the questio...

I am floating on the shiny, cool surface letting go of myself, memories, dreams, life itself. The warm touch of the sun above and the languid water below are comforting and don't expect my response. I don't think I have anything in me left to give. I am empty and hollow like space. Being a part of things but not the thing itself is a new concept. It doesn't stir any emotions, it seems so distant but clear and logical. Everything is falling into place and illusive balance finally makes its presence known. It matters so little when all the energy is drawn out and the rest of the being feels embalmed and protected from all the chaos and upheavals and too far away to grasp or care. The soft breeze is lighter than a feather, lukewarm water with all the reflections of days gone by and fading into oblivion, muffled sounds of splashing waves, and occasional birds above, sliding between fingers lazy current, and me being and not being myself anymore. Like a melting ice-cream on ...

Passing youth is knocking on the door with loud insistence of speeding express, with familiar tunes, flashing memories and all the energy it can summon. The hurricane is here, door opens and I am swept away. It's surreal and touching. Still, I am standing behind the glass, watching and listening, unable to enter. One careless movement and it all will disappear, swallowed by the time ripples. Experience is breathtaking and excruciating. The vibe is so overwhelming that suddenly you are at loss which reality matters more. Current surroundings are just a dream... Has it all been just a dream when your heart is racing, aching for reunion with the past with desperate intensity of a last chance, slipping away into another time pocket. When the wind rattles your whole being and inevitable storm is raging around, life behind the glass is all that matters and counts... Brighter than the stars, memories are cutting through the time and space, setting you free to spin in the wind....

Rain is sliding lazily from the leaves, drop by drop. Multicolored hydrangeas, wet and disheveled never looked more beautiful on the background of the silver-tinted skies. Torn clouds keep crying away, tragic and lost, looking down on scenery underneath, wishing to stay and rest on the top of trees or soft, tangled grass, watching the day go by. Silence is only disturbed by the  murmuring water, pouring through the green. Cool moist air fills lungs with unusual freshness that'll soon disappear into the real summer heat, eaten by the ever-hungry sun. Light drizzle is stretching an invisible net, layer by layer, assembling little shiny purls strung together on the web lines, forcing spiders into hiding. Sounds are softened, subdued, cushioned cosily into a mellow cotton ball world, existing only for a moment in June.

It feels like a gaping hole inside. Starting small it seem to be only growing over time, however slowly. It's easy to ignore its existence being busy with trivial everyday routine, push aside vague discomfort of something missing, blaming it on fatigue, lack of time or any other number of things.  Sooner or later it'll make itself known, the reality to be accounted for and the issue to be addressed.  It starts to gnaw at you subtly. The dark seeds of uncertainty begin to grow at first giving just a mild discomfort. Like a cautious disease it hides inside preparing for the silent coup that will dare to challenge your whole being.  It begin by surfacing occasionally during sleepless nights posing strange questions and encamping doubts where they have no place to be. It proceeds then to visit on a regular basis, carefully picking the days and catching you of guard so often that it surprising how the signs of the approach can be missed so notoriously easily....

I am mesmerized by the world I haven't seen yet.  I caught a glimpse of it, reluctant or insecure to touch the surface fearing to distort the picture.  I could still find the traces of illusion that it's become. Reality inevitably escapes into memory pockets remaining real just to some concerned, myth to newcomers to slowly vanish with coming years replaced by shifting plates of time, events and people. I wish I could float in time, back and forth. The most incredible travel imaginable.  All the loose ends connected, all the facets in place, beginnings and endings interlocking, in perfect harmony that allows finally see the escaping reasoning from all the angles, without shadows, with nothing hidden, unveiling meanings in most unexpected places wise in their simplicity that doesn't any more elude the eye.

What is happening... Is it me? Is it the world around? Or both... Spinning in the wind, tornados followed by black rain that keeps coming. Life seems so big and  so insignificant at the same time. Emotional tidal waves come and go to bring more storms and inevitable tsunami that will burry us all underneath the dark blanket of water. There won't be any stars to see, no memories will remain intact, no words, no regrets... just that long awaited peace