I Remember Long Ago.. a Sea of Stars

June Entry #24

         I remember a time...
...long ago, when life was filled with fields of white blossoming lotus. Like an idyllic portrait, painted with warm, vibrant colors, and splashed with a touch of hue. Truly, insatiably glowing. And forcibly angelic, though by no means complete. To what extent can light be without the dark? My portrait of the past contains me within it, the light, but there is no opposition. No cruelty. No darkness. And yet the world was hideous. Wilting. Living, yet rotting. How can such a fantastical dream be so imperfect? Yes--a simple dream. Although it was only a few years past--which, I suppose in our human perception of time, could be perceived as either long or short--, I have gained nothing and have lost--a lot. I am now forced the role of Atlas, holding up the weight of the world, light as a pigeon's feather. And yet, as I write this, and look upon the wanderings of birds in flight--I question: why is it that we, humans, are incapable of flight? Why are we weighted down so heavily by our trials that we make symbols of them, that we may make hatred from them? Why can we not fly? In comparison to back then, I feel heavier and without purpose. Everywhere, I am surrounded by beings comprised of shadows ephemeral. By beings whose eyes watch my every move. By demons who catch up to my sleep night by night. What lingers in my heart now is not peace, but sorrow. Not the common form of sorrow where the world is seen as unjustifiably cruel, no; it's the kind of feeling where one at last realizes that there has been no change, no definition by which one is any different from the others. After all these years, have I really changed? No. I haven't. Perhaps superficially, but mentally? At best, I've only become more twisted, but I am still the same child who sat on this balcony long ago. Yes, I remember those days. Peaceful, beautiful, and filled with bliss.
         The Sun left his dear protégé, the Moon, a trail of breadcrumbs for him to follow. The city in turn remained active in their machinations, oblivious to the turning of celestial gears. People kept to their business, walking to and fro, and lights brashly flickered throughout the evening and night. I watched the world's rotation from atop a balcony at the side of my belvedere, anxiously anticipating the arrival of people whom I had or hadn't met. Upon their arrival, I would greet them from within my threshold and welcome them into the cramped locale and offer them an unsound conversation with trivial purpose. But even more so, I would focus on the changing of the world, the changing of the skies. Star-gazing, would be my more common answer to what I was doing, and it was true, I wasn't lying. But the answers that came would always only be half-truths. I wasn't stargazing out of enjoyment or for the purport idea. No, I searched for escape, for hope that the person who had come to meet me was no differ than the one whom I anticipated within my mind. Or in more drastic circumstances, if they are completely different. In a way, one could call that balcony a safe haven for me. But at the same time, it could also be called a terrifying ledge. It is, after all, the edge of an apartment complex, hanging over a street filled with people I love and people I hate; a sea of strangers. The balcony acted, too, as a divider between the sky and earth, so in a way, it is my bane and bundle. As it was the cornerstone betwixt the earth's influence and the gods' domain, I am left in cinders, the observer, a child, lost in unfriendly waters so pure. I miss those days, I really do. Especially now, when I have at last realized that I am no one particularly great or special; we're all different, yes, but I am no knight in chivalrous armor or a genius with implacable mental fortitude. I have no special story to tell and my imagination is only second rate. If only I could return to back then, to redo what I've done so wrong. It's fun thinking about it, but in truth, I'd probably do what I've already done. It's great to just close one's eyes and imagine when the sky would yield to the bubbles of light that budded upon the fields of obsidian stardust encompassing the world. When my dreams would be soft things, innocent things, happy things. When I didn't wish so much for the world to end and begin anew.
         I still remember that time long ago when I only cared for the sea of stars above me within my little well of a balcony. Alas, as night approaches upon this day, I have determined to end this full circle atop that same exact balcony (I'm writing this entry on it if you hadn't guessed). The umbra has eclipsed the world at last, and my pen has become rather slow in its act. The clouds are finally moving, and the moon shines dimly above. From atop my ivory tower, I bid thee farewell, until yonder morrow comes (for it surely will); may lady luck be with you, grandpa. And may you at least keep comfort in these starry skies.