It’s just that: you suddenly find yourself wandering into the lives of others, not knowing what to expect, then one day you’re suddenly wandering out. Growing up teaches you to know when your time has come to leave.
I think growing up means understanding when your turn is over and graciously leaving the space for others without throwing a tantrum of self-entitlement.
Growing up made me understand not to look for “meaning” in the world.
The world has no meaning on its own, don’t blame the world for your miseries. Meaning is what you make of it, what you bring to the table, what you contribute in another person’s life. Meaning is planting a tree so a few people can breathe easy, meaning is screwing a tap tight so that water doesn’t leak, meaning is leaving your smartphone behind and sitting on the grass to laugh with friends who care.
And meaning is also letting go of those friends when its time.
Growing up is realising that new places become old and old places can be experienced anew.
Growing up doesn’t have to be hard, it doesn’t have to punishing, you’ve to simply learn to let go and absorb again. Growing up is flexibility.
Let fucking go.
I woke up today with you on my mind, nothing unusual. Nothing more painful.
A glass of tepid water, handing father the newspaper, asking mum if she wanted a sandwich, my usual routine. My time in my balcony, the tropical sun beating down hot and heavy, no gentle breeze rustling the leaves, the heat of roads glittering, glaring at me.
My morning routine, scrolling through news feed. The black portal to my loneliness clutched safe in my palm, my other hand shielding it from the heat of the sun. Nothing keeps, fleeting, false colours of joy keep me going—every day, the same way, the strangest attachment to my world of lies.
When evening comes with small relief and I’m distracted by the sound of the wind between the trees—
It’s sudden, the rain comes lashing, unforgiving, purging the concrete of unbearable heat. Thunder strikes loud and lightning licks the ground and I’m afraid earth’s come for me.
It’s with fear in my heart that I drag myself out and feel the rain pushing me underground. My soul is drenched, my heart swells and for once, there are no tears. I wanted to talk about beginnings in the end but I’m not part of this world anymore—
A small relief from my thoughts tonight.
The smile that trembles deep behind your tears
Is the promise of the world since the beginning of time
Even if I’m alone now, from our yesterdays
Today is born sparkling
Like the day we first met
You’re not in my memories
You turn into a breeze and touch my cheeks
Even after our parting in the afternoon with the sun beaming through the trees
The promise of the world won’t ever end
Even if I’m alone now, tomorrow is limitless
You taught me about
The kindness that lurks in the night
You’re not in my memories
So live forever in the song of the streams
In the colour of this sky, in the fragrance of flowers
In the Glitter of the stars
In the gleam of the moon
For me, be the promise of the world
I watched the lonely bird disappear in the horizon
The Queen dispatched the warm orange of her day’s Sun to pursue it.
The kingdom of Sky was an endless canvas of yellow,
the occasional orange and red streaking across.
The soft breeze, like satin caressed my skin.
Those were the telltale signs
The time had come.
The dying rays of Sun directed my pursuit
leading me into the canopy of your dwelling
among the trees that stood tall and somber.
I thought I heard the familiar rustle of the leaves
like the forest was waking from it’s enchanted slumber
Had you come for me?
I reached out for you.
Sure enough a branch of oak encircled my waist.
The light is failing fast.
I turn around in your arms
looking through the dimness
into the dark brown of your eyes,
partly concealed under the yards of chestnut.
The musk of pine in your breath entices my senses
the deep wheat of your skin reflects the last of the golden light.
In a tremulous outreach I pick a fly-away leaf from your rippling mass of chestnut.
A hint of a smile playing in the corner of your mouth.
Then in a swish of your cloak
–a kiss on my lips
–a click of of your heels
you’re gone again
Back in the open
The Sun has gone — not into oblivion.
The Queen has retrieved her forces.
Somewhere a monotonous bird calls to it’s mate
The fly-away leaf lays in my open palm, gazing.
The sounds of the forest are returning
I think I hear a thousand hooves
A war horn screams afar — in glorious victory.
The King is here to reign.
Her day is stepping aside.
The kingdom of Sky welcomes the pearly calm of Moon
And the King rides in with his vast, bellowing cloak of midnight blue.