My Writings

A Lover and a Tyrant

I have been trying to write on the hurt that I caused you, for some time, but it was too early, too far away from perfection, too murky and unfamiliar, to me. It is because I had wished to be the sweetest song in your life, at once appearing human and transcending that image. I wanted to be your all, a source of inspiration and quiet refuge. A guardian and a hero, and a trusted friend.

A lover, first and foremost, to help you see what your heart was blind to perceive. A song, familiar enough to be allowed an audience in your halls, and yet new, rejuvenating, powerful – like the light of distant stars, flickering coldly, but retaining their titles of Suns, nonetheless. Unbeknownst to you, unfamiliar planets spin around them, planes of existence, awash with their light.

I set out to bring those suns to you. That is my light, I proclaimed – that is who I am, that is what I can give. My desire to embrace you, to swallow you whole, has pulled me perhaps too close to your fertile gardens, burning them to ash. You have deserted your great cities, you have abandoned your temples, gates broken, to the will of fate, because of me.

In love, I am a tyrant, not a hero. Equally incapable of giving and receiving, like a wheel stuck in mud and root, I can neither move forwards, nor backwards. Thus I remained, waiting for you to save me from my condition. It was as if I believed that your powers are endless, as if you yourself can never want, perfectly satisfied, whatever the circumstances.

But you were not mistaken. My inner world, as you once saw it, still draws breath, its lungs – scarred by smoke, coughing the pain out only slowly, gradually, but breathing nonetheless. Alongside the void, inside me there exists a spring of color and life, unnaturally strong and persistent, perhaps because it was always needed, more than a human life requires.

The rest is silence. Calm and terrible, at times colored in guilt, at times in self-forgiveness. The silence is a song in itself, to be understood and shaped by you, the listener, as you like.

From it, a new melody will arise. I have sailed to its shores, seeking a place to land.

A melody.

Not cacophony.


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