Now I am become powder of worlds, the Destroyer of rain.
December 23rd, 2021, 7:49 AM
Through the dark, I discern daytime. Through the silence, I can hear my own voice. I love to sing, sing until it is all so opaque that I can no longer see through myself. I love trying on words for size and seeing which ones roll off the tongue best. I love impromptu spitting out songs for a crowd of nobody but my possibly annoyed neighbors, and I love playing the piano for a crowd of no other than the sunrise – the latter being a signal that I really ought to start appreciating the stars more than I currently do. Blue star, please put me under. I do not wish to be awake, not at this time.
I wake up every day to the sound of a quiet cliff. I love it when that happens – I can see the milky rain drizzle down from the roof, becoming one with the muddy puddles on the pavement as it makes its final descent. I can smell the green tea someone brewed for me in the next room over – I have no choice but to leave the comfort of my own bed and thank the guy in charge. But before I do, I must make my bed. One must always make his bed before proceeding to trifles like kindness.
Kindness floods every street corner, you see. For a society oft touted “wilted,” we – its members – sure do hold strangers to monumental value. People always care “what others think of [them],” and people always let a man know if he looks silly. People would not do that if they did not care for their neighbor. Love thy neighbor like thou love thyself, but do tend to your bedly responsibilities before all else. A tidy room can boost one’s mood throughout the day in inexplicable ways. Humans thrive on order, which is precisely why disorder is considered evil and treated accordingly.
It is snowing today. I went on a walk early this morning, and I found that snowflakes feel rather warm when they fall on your shoulders and slowly melt away, leaving you freezing, wet, and vaguely miserable. I reckon it is most wonderful when the birds retreat to their lay to evade the snow, yet can still be heard chirping in the distance. It is in moments like this that I fail to take life for what it is.
In the city of Trikala, it seldom snows – thus this is to be taken as a miracle. A guy on a bike might be on his way to work right now, cursing the darkness for it is pouring ice particles (“it” being my God) – but my bicycle was stolen months ago, and I got laid off my job at roughly the same time. Now I lie around, laze around, a solitary snowflake observing the land for all it’s worth – what else can a man do in a state of such perpetual leisure? Leisure is said to lose its gravity when it becomes a person’s baseline, but I do not find it to be so. I could go about my entire life this way, only my bread will not pay for itself. I find myself relying on my aging mother and her pension for financial support during this time, as much as I hate to admit it, but I really am stranded for cash. Maybe one day I’ll be a useful gem again. Maybe one day I won’t be drawn to useless artefacts nearly as much, and maybe one day I will lose the sparkle in my eye once and for all. It is scary to think about, but time comes for us all, and life comes racing right behind him – all nauseating velocity.
Someday I will be someone, and someday I will trade my joy for security. Someday I will no longer rejoice in the snow, and someday the flame in me will be put out by the snow itself. Someday life won’t be good for anything, but that day remains far away, to my judgement and please thank you. I am safe, and I will be alright. I won’t make it out alive, because no one does – that’s the law of nature. One of the laws of nature, anyway. Any way you look, any way you go, you won’t escape the terror, you won’t outrun the snow. Law of nature.
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