Remembrance Beyond Death
Tears are not how this will start. Nor is it how it ends. For where there’s pain, you won’t find such frivolities.
I speak now of the memory which stirred you to read beyond the title. I speak of the fear of a child. I speak of the twinge of regret and the wave of nostalgia. But most of all I speak of the love and question whether it dies.
Imagine smashing into a solid wall while running at your peak speed. The sudden halt is not what loss feels like. No. Try picturing that you kept on running only to look back and find that you’re still there crumpled besides the wall. The tangled and messed up pseudo reality is a truer expression.
I did not grieve, for those around me did. I wouldn’t make it worse. As I tried to contain the slipping sand with my hands, the reality of the unrealism finally struck me. Had I entered into a state of delirium or was I waking from one? I could never prove otherwise. The elements of existence and perception had fallen in the face of death.
Whispers promised salvation with time. The prospect seemed to be ridiculous. But, as always, they had a point.
A hundred days later, I think back as the world shows itself through a misty tinted glass. The throb doesn’t hurt as much. I wonder whether I have already forgotten. Had it been an illusion after all?
And then it came, tearing through the clouds of doubt, piercing like an arrow. Loss doesn’t grey with time. Rather, it is dulled by layers and layers of thoughts and happenings of everyday life.
There was something else though, shining through with the pain. A million hues were now seeping through my tinted glass and visible through them were vibrant memories of love which I had forgotten somehow. Oh what an illusion life was, where memories felt more alive than the living themselves.
Yes, there was Remembrance beyond Death. Yes, it was beautiful…
Tears are not how this will start. Nor is it how it ends. For where there’s pain, you won’t find such frivolities.
I speak now of the memory which stirred you to read beyond the title. I speak of the fear of a child. I speak of the twinge of regret and the wave of nostalgia. But most of all I speak of the love and question whether it dies.
Imagine smashing into a solid wall while running at your peak speed. The sudden halt is not what loss feels like. No. Try picturing that you kept on running only to look back and find that you’re still there crumpled besides the wall. The tangled and messed up pseudo reality is a truer expression.
I did not grieve, for those around me did. I wouldn’t make it worse. As I tried to contain the slipping sand with my hands, the reality of the unrealism finally struck me. Had I entered into a state of delirium or was I waking from one? I could never prove otherwise. The elements of existence and perception had fallen in the face of death.
Whispers promised salvation with time. The prospect seemed to be ridiculous. But, as always, they had a point.
A hundred days later, I think back as the world shows itself through a misty tinted glass. The throb doesn’t hurt as much. I wonder whether I have already forgotten. Had it been an illusion after all?
And then it came, tearing through the clouds of doubt, piercing like an arrow. Loss doesn’t grey with time. Rather, it is dulled by layers and layers of thoughts and happenings of everyday life.
There was something else though, shining through with the pain. A million hues were now seeping through my tinted glass and visible through them were vibrant memories of love which I had forgotten somehow. Oh what an illusion life was, where memories felt more alive than the living themselves.
Yes, there was Remembrance beyond Death. Yes, it was beautiful…
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