Alongside, in parallel, with.
- SC
- May 9, 2019
- 2 min read
Alongside, in parallel, with. Not quite synonymous with together. Quite the contrary, in fact. In parallel actually implies a degree of separation, pathways that will never meet. And yet I see you moving next to me, moving on that track alongside me: each of us encapsulated in our own little slice of existence; nonetheless connected. The world is moving around us, or perhaps we are moving through the world. Whatever it is, something is happening and yet nothing is.
You, a body of mass; me, just a massless wave of feeling.
You asked me something, but it wasn’t a question. I replied, but I don’t know if it was an answer.
The temporal precision; the ACT of you. It lives in my body, in places it shouldn’t. It is a dangerous wish, this thing that I wish. Because perhaps (almost certainly), the wish is better than the dream, which supersedes the reality. The reality of things is never, never, ever as good as the imagined universe. What keeps the dream alive is the romanticised version of things.
Yet I feel like you are the romanticism, and I need add nothing.
The universe is our ________.
_______ could be a thing or a dream or an ‘s’ to indicate possession — a shared possession. Yours and mine.
But who are YOU?
Maybe I’m not writing this to anyone in particular because you don’t exist yet. Or you do, and I’m just not admitting it to myself.
(these tears — pouring like a torrent out of me)
No one is going to watch me when I cry. And maybe that is what is destroying me from the inside. Perhaps what I need so terribly is to be needed. But I know that in the end, everything and everyone is dispensable. And we get over things and we move on. I am someone of many, many words — most of which will remain unheard.