The Silver City // The Universe Ends // The Lake

The Silver City

There are very little for me to think about in the age of silver. It brings me little joy to see the city alight with the metal, shining from all of the buildings and windows. I can only just remember an age when the streets I walked was not lined with the hues of our state’s colors. Before, I must have been five, when I remember the vague ideas of home and comfort. There was a glow to streetlights along the stone street.

Now it is a different mineral that I walk on too and from work. It was a novelty when it was put in. For the first several years, people could pick and flake pieces off of it. Take some home and lay it out on their kitchen table and present it like some trophy.

I remember my father doing that.

I stare out my office window, lined with silver, and I remember my father bringing it home, presenting the strip he had removed from the corner of Trebble and Greene Street. He laid it in front of both of my mothers like some prized trophy which we had received in our lives.

That was when it was still interesting. Now it lines the walls, the windows, the features of my desk. Bedframes are made of it, its shimmer is praised, I see it everywhere and I despise it.

What use is silver? Oh it’s beauty is praised, but I have never felt like I was so trapped in a city of it.

The Winter Solstice approaches within a couple of days and I see on ever corner the silver trees and silver pine branches.

I see in movies the beauty of actual trees, but if I am honest, I don’t remember real trees.

The silver lined clock ticks beside me and I check my laptop, covered in a silver backing to make sure that I’m not missing a new email while I stare listlessly out at the silver city.

It is a sight without life to me.

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And there is another city. A different city. But it has the same feeling if you changed just a word.

I stare out at the plastic city. I recognize a strange sort of beauty in it. And a strange kind of coldness.

It is a strange place to live in.

Change a word and it changes how we think about the world. Good or bad, shifting things around changes the aesthetic.

It is a sight without life to me.

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The Universe Ends

Deep.

Dark.

Space.

Stars.

Silver.

Color.

Lack of Space.

So much space.

The air is drenched with smoke.

The land is shorn and warn.

There is no space left.

There is no world left.

Darkness overhead.

Ashes under foot.

Despair often comes when you are conflicted.

Dance of the cosmos.

Wink.

Wink.

Darkness.

Below your feet a dry wind blows.

The universe collapse into the void.

The void is small.

There is hardly anything to focus on.

Black hole.

Black hole.

Wink.

Wink.

Disappear.

There is nothing but space.

Space shrinks.

Into a point.

Gone.

Time is no longer a concept.

Reality unravels.

How did it exit to begin with?

Nothing.

No words.

Writing ceases.

What is here.

What is left.

No questions.

Only what remains.

Which is nothing.

New life?

Maybe.

Or maybe nothing …

Forever.

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The Lake

The expanse of water makes the outside world seem so silent.

I float in it, looking up at the glassy view of a twilight sky.

It is peaceful here. It resides in this space that things are beautiful.

The water is cold. It stills the mind.

And then when summer comes, it warms again.

I wait here, in silence, with my thoughts.

It is peaceful here.

I like peaceful.

It gives me a chance to feel.

To think.

The water laps around me. My eyes are closed.

It’s the quiet.

The water is shallow.

There is nothing to haunt the water below me, only the fact that I am here. Alone.

It feels nice.

To have this chance to be myself.

To have that chance to exist in this.

Bubbles drift around me, tickling my skin. Their soft brush against me reminds me of my lightness. It reminds me that I am floating, that I am existing.

With my knowledge, I reside here.

The water closes over me, as night once again resides in this domain.

Then the sunlight falls against my face again. The sunlight’s warmth come slowly through the water, until it’s warmth reaches my eyes and my lips. It brightly sparkles against the water, proving to be almost blinding.

I enjoy it.

It reminds me of soft touches of warmth.

Then the night returns again, chilling the water. It laps against me, a slower difference than what the day gives. The moon returns, with brightness that reminds me of the sun’s ghost.

A slight smile touches my lips as I let my eyes close slightly. It is a wonderful thing, to be able to see the bright reflection of the orbs surface, when the water is particularly still. And I can see the slight twinkle of stars as well, lightly touching all around these waters.

Once or twice, a fish nibbles at my hair or rests around my toes. They seem to accept me as a natural part of their water-scape by now, perfectly content to have me among them.

Occasionally, I blow small bubbles in their direction, finding this amuses and scares them at the same time.

It may be just what makes me smile. Among other things. There little visits truly enchant me at times.