I am clutching the end of the faintest string of silver. A golden thread that has turned into grayish silver, a European winter sky. I try to revive its shine, its glimmer, and its glory. I forcefully make it breathe. I make it live on, not allowing it to die; to rest in peace. It exists because I feed on it. A time to cry and a time to laugh—all through the shimmer of the dissolving thread.
I am the earth, the sky, the breath I draw in and the one I exhale. I sit in silence as I dive into the cavities of my mind trying to fill in the blank spaces between the words that make up the story of my life. Their silence threatens me; their observation scares me; the voids remain still, like toads on a log, waiting for their prey to arrive. And then, the dinner suddenly arrives, the memories resurface.
The cracks force their dimness upon them, with the memories struggling to grow. The battle goes on until I journey back into me, my body, my prison, out of my cavities, with their silence and their intimidation—unanswered questions, unrevealed secrets.
The unfinished lines on my tabula rasa, the scribbles of my life shaded with my experiences. The spaces remain the same, white blanks scaring away the words; powerful statements made by “simple” voids. Each word easily engulfed by space, embraced by it; the space, both loved and hated—a fine invisible line, merging them, not separating them.
I think of you, of what could have been, the voids unbearable, torturous, venomous. I am lost, no answers found; no relief, no release. I close my eyes and realize…between the words is where I love you the most.
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