At the End of the Day - 1. Death and Dawn

At the end of the day, it’s the silence that gets to me. It’s when I whisper into the darkness and realize that no one is going to respond. There is profound emptiness in that silence, reminding me of the cavernous expanse of my own soul.

I try calling to him every now and then. I try calling to him, and the rest; all of those that I’ve lost. There is never a response, just an echoing of my own cry as it reverberates endlessly through the void of my memory. I cry at the top of my lungs, but it makes no difference. There is no answer, no one to tell me that I’m not alone.

It’s difficult not to feel abandoned. Didn’t he make the choice to get on that motorcycle? Didn’t he make the choice to leave me, even though he promised he’d be back? Why can’t I move on? Is it because I can’t forgive him? Is my anger and blame for his choice holding me back from accepting that it’s over?

So many years have passed, but I still long to hold him again. I still long for that shared sense of purpose that I derived from our long conversations, which started in the twilight hours of the evening of sometimes extended through the night as we made clear to each other our deepest thoughts, desires, and fears. There were no secrets between us. There was never a moment where I doubted his devotion, or doubted my place at his side. I imagine that should our existence be blessed with an afterlife, I will once again look into those enticing green eyes and know once again that I belong with him.

He was everything to me. With him I was always full; he understood my heart and he loved my soul as I loved his. We wanted nothing more than to live a long life together in peace, free from the oppression of our youth. We were born into a culture that could not understand us, and by some profound fortune we found each other, and for the first time I knew that I could survive; for the first time I knew that I could do great things, and I would do them with him.

And then, in a matter of seconds everything changed. In an instant his beautiful light was shattered and stolen, and a piece of me was lost forever with it. There are times where the memory of his death comes back to me, a haunting apparition of what could have been. It makes me want to blame not only him, but myself for not stopping him. It brings all the guilt, the pain; everything comes back alongside it, crying for my blood as it once cried for his.

Death is an immutable component of life. We all reach it eventually; we all succumb to its icy grip as it pulls us toward whatever happens afterward. I may never know for certain if it is the end, or if it is merely a beginning. I may never know if there is peace on the other side of the veil, or if the nothingness, the impenetrable silence, is all that I have to look forward to.

But I can’t go back, and so forward is all that is left to me. Life is not a book being read, it is a book being written, in indelible ink. Try as I might, I cannot possibly change the past. I can only affect what is written next. I do not know what the future will hold; the unwritten pages that are yet to be filled, but another immutable component of life is that I can choose what word to write next.

In this world there is too much guilt; too much pain. So much crying for blood to be spilt over petty things. Death is created all around us, as if people seem to think we need more of it than what occurs by natural process. As I choose the path of the present, it is up to the light within me to safeguard the sanctity of life around me. Every second is an opportunity to change someone’s life for the better.

We can do great things together. We can survive, by finding those of like mind who are willing to rise together, regardless of the culture that does not understand peace. We can persevere, beyond the oppression of those who seek to create a world of death. This world can be a place of peace, where everyone can be full, their hearts understood, and their souls loved.

All life is connected, and we are everything. My heartbeat thrums with the heartbeat of the world, enticing me to dance, to make art, and to consider the great questions of the universe. We belong together in this great dance, and we are invited to thrive. Our deepest thoughts, desires, and fears are important, and with great courage we can pursue our desires and overcome our fears. The twilight of my self-imposed oppression is nigh, and the dawn is coming. I will find my purpose in life, and I will hold onto it through all the years to come.

My anger and blame have held me back for too long, and it is time to forgive. It is time to move on, and acknowledge that though I may never hold him in my arms again, the memory of him is riding right alongside me. In my heart I know that his choice to leave was not his own; he did not abandon me. He is there, I need only call.

I sing at the top of my lungs, knowing that he will hear me. I call to all of those who have gone before, and when I expect nothing, they answer. They are with me. He is with me. My calls reverberate through the void of my memories and comes back to me, singing the song of purpose renewed, drawing me forward.

I whisper into the darkness. I pause, and listen to the silence. The silence is nothing but a blank page, and at the end of the day, I decide what the answer will be.