Night in Purgatory

I watched the light crawl up towards the shadows in my room, lending a sinister countenance to the trees outside the windows. The air was filtered with dust and grime exhausted by the cars that went right past the house. The humid atmosphere was filled with the hustle and bustle of people rushing home after a tiring day.

Despite the noise, I can only feel an acute sense of loneliness.

I could not fathom such longing for things to be different from the way they are. The dream to reach for what I always wanted escapes me time and again. I try to deny that I merely want and do not feel the aching need. But I am more deceptive with myself than with others. I immerse myself in chiaroscuros because I have never known any other way to relieve the silence haunting my soul.

He remains to be the reason for my dementia.

I see the expressionless eyes everyday in my mind. I dared to tread the footsteps that those eyes left behind. It’s a fruitless endeavor for our souls will never meet halfway. Though we reached a different kind of nirvana, a physical exorcism of what should not be, our shadows are too far apart to ever follow the same path, to ever share the same space and to ever share the same joys and pains. And knowing this, I die a little each and every day.

But still I stayed and waited for the crowd to fall silent, for them to stop the chaos wreaking havoc between us, for him to see through the glass wall separating us. I waited for the impossible. For the soul I sought will never find mine. He will never know that I lived under the shelter of shadows just like him, hiding the truth from the rest of the world. Those seemingly vacant eyes will never find out how much I understood his belief that colors are non-existent, just a void of gray shades. He will never realize that I saw colors only through him, every hue mocking me with its clarity and hitting me with a sharp emptiness because I have lost something that never found me.

He will never know that I made him the world.