Separating the LightMature

I remember happiness now, shattered happiness from a history lost in memories returning like a neighbor so close you could touch, but the memories speaking in a language unheard for generations. I walk among the memories scattered across the baron floor of my mind, I look about in frustration for his love, my fathers, replaced in my mind with the dark love of this man I have not let go. Is he the replacement to a morbid fantasy, the darkness revealed? Or have I always been lost in this black mind, shadows and no longer afraid of the black I pull at drawers in search of a life I once lived so long ago.

I have stood from the one place I remained from the moment I arrived finding a lingering shred of a past, a tiny sheaf of notepad paper folded unevenly in four and tucked to the back of a drawer filled with nothingness forgotten, scrawled across I swore it lay the words which I had come to fear in my mind, the words I wished never to hear again

            In the end we all must pass to the greener side, when nothing we do can stop the pain of fearing the laughter in tears, for they know we are but pawns and them the pullers of strings in heart. A boy must not cry to the passing storms lest he be caught in its web of lies. A storm to cross the river sticks, the greener side we have moved, it has followed. For us as one must separate ‘it is not you’ the boy would cry, the wolf in sheep’s grazes unknown, the boys is dinner. Peal back the guise and I will be a tear on the eye but not in the heart.

            Read it but don’t hear the words” He speaks from the black corners around my head I feel the pressure the emotions build and a tear falls down upon the letter. Wiping the sheaf the words digress and I am left holding a wordless letter written not in my hand, nor those I have known. The words, the last I will have heard of a man who now seems to be haunting my presence, playing with my mind.

Do I love the hate or confuse pain for wanting.

He hangs in the room like a drifting wind. Shivers tickle at my spine and I the boy have left the wanting to a bigger past. Two men loved in different ways, both drawn together in one. Was it those eyes I saw or Black whose soul has inhabited my memories of him, I remember when he was loving and nurturing, I also remember when Xavier stopped being that man and his mind left me alone.

The long sheets of darkened yellow notepads, black words written in a hand to be read only by its owner scattered across the dark stained floor; I longed to understand those days spend in silence. The man in his world I in mine, words spewing from his hand tears welling in my eyes to his despair, walking as one but standing alone is a strange mix for a young man in love with the thought of love, a strange man who would one day be taken by its voices and now I taken by them here. 

His voices are not like mine, mine come from a memory shared, happiness and confusion, ages between the real and the imagined. The voices he claims were real and felt and told and hurt, he was a puppet near the end I watched as his life became a mirage of walking and talking. I held his hand when he refused to leave the blue clear smoke filled home which became our prison. One moment laughter the next screams and silence. Black were his eyes then near the end, face void, I too frail in spirit to watch, too young to know. The man withered between worlds living in neither and watching his own 3D life in the back of his mind. I think he wished I weren’t there but what would have become of the man who reflected my own history.


The End

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