Thrown to the Unknown

The night was humid. No; it was moist, like tears of laughter, or overflowing sadness. It was difficult to distinguish between them for anyone observing the scene, although most would have eventually chosen the so-called positive type. What is there to laugh about? Even Charlie Chaplin made me cry. Woody Allen made me laugh but rarely out loud. Irony is ironclad, only rusting succinctly to allow itself to resonate beyond the brain. Sarcasm is drier but it can move like a train. Cynicism rules now in aware minds, as ignorance and stupidity continue to score.

I suddenly thought of her pussy. It usually calms me, until I also remember that it is not in my life any longer. It was a brief affair, although she was divorced and I was unmarried again, after 28 years of having a second half, which used to be the first. She was taken to the Elysian Fields, while I seem to be heading to Hades. It is only a feeling, of course, as Hades also represents oblivion to me. Nothing lasts forever, except, perhaps, elementary particles or all of them. Decay is only biological. They appear to only fade from our capricious senses.

I cannot miss her because she refuses to be missed. I can only pine for her pussy in two ways, maybe three. She was only divorced from me. It took less than a year to feel the part. There are other details, but they have become too transparent for words. My odyssey started with Athena and never ended. It carries me now, between the too many bouts of reality. My Aegean is only stormy somewhere in my chest. The boat had sunk, but there was no way to drown with mine, as the water was shallow like her love. She never missed me.

Could I be mistaken? These are surely my conclusions, all based on my memories and impressions. I like Monet, but impressions are relative and thus nontransferable. We can look at the same flowers, yet see different colours and hues. Her impression about me was not mine and vice versa, but some breed of love brought us together, for better and worse, but the latter won the challenge, which existence bestows upon us like a curse. To love or not to love. I wanted to love her forever, but she disrupted the flow.

There are no second chances with the same love. I even tried somehow, both directly and indirectly, to bring her back to my side of the Aegean, but the waves were already too high, with the Moon declining to help in any conceivable way. Athena keeps smiling in my mind, even when the world around us is only becoming madder. We wait. I wait. Surely not for Godot, or the worms. Oblivion is more than sufficient to lessen the looming blow of nonexistence. Even her soul never cared.

To the Unknown – An Acrostic Alexandrine

Trees abound where no humans dwell and multiply
Ornamenting land with potential permanence
Till creatures who poetise about love and why
Heave themselves towards every space with forcefulness.
Each lament causes another to show its strength
Under any tree, the Moon and even the Sun
Negating every erstwhile source at least in length
Knowing one’s feelings because it is love or none.
Never is a long time, even for the Cosmos
Overflowing with life here, there, on the Sun’s Earth
Withstanding love’s uninterrupted exosmose
Needing to withdraw the claim of any rebirth.