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Today
there was a solar eclipse. Where I live, only a third of the sun was seemingly
covered by the moon. It was almost ironic. It was mocking me, hiding behind the
clouds, not even visible. Not even dark. An illusion. A magic trick.
Everything
in my life right now only reaches a third of its potential. And I am waiting.
Always waiting, for my future to load, my reality to fulfil itself. I have an
idea. I always do. Always hope; and wait. I tear myself apart every day now.
Every night I put myself together, all sides of me; I shift everything around,
like a Rubric’s cube. I need to find the algorithm.
I
have been totally eclipsed. I have been complete. I have been happy. I am
neither now. I know what to look for; what to feel for. I know that sight is the
least reliable of our senses. My soul confides in the ethereal: scents that can
be tasted by touching another’s skin. A voice that transcends the boundaries of
language. I’ve heard it.
I
think I’ve always had that one third, in some way, it’s always been my starting
point. Except for one day, seven months ago. I lost everything then. Nothing
mattered. I’ve always co-inhabited other planets, but on that day what I needed
was another universe.
I
live in thirds, but I need a four. Don’t ask me who I am. You don’t really want
to know. You’d rather always kiss your fractured assembly of me. It’s easier
that way. Simpler. More earthly, and we love this earth, don’t we? Stop
embracing the parts of me that will succumb to you. I’ve chosen them with care,
but so have you. Elsewhere is where you’ve always been.