The Philosopher’s Attic

Quelques mots avant que ma parole ne s’envole dans la profondeur finale de ton regard. Quelques croquis de phrases restés inachevés parmi les tendres minutes passés entre le petit matin et la force du soleil…
Ce qui n’a jamais été dit, ce que je n’ai jamais pu écrire, ce qui n’aurais jamais traversé mon esprit presque fiévreux, me brûle l’âme et le coeur.
Les mots s’échappent, les phrases se brouillent… ton rire, ta façon de me regarder, ta pure présence, ton esprit et ton coeur de grand poète… plus clair qu’une nuit d’été, plus beau qu’un moment passé en toute tranquillité. Mon coeur… oh, mon amour, mon doux, mon tendre… mon merveilleux amour.

As I stumble from the crowded silence
of the last beloved thought,
I imagine myself to settle down at last,
find the things once lost,
security,
peace,
solace,
simplicity.
love.

~

With the passing of a golden sun,
all things are suddenly resolved,
simplyfied,
unified,
sublimated,
in your presence.

There is no ‘if’, no ‘when’,
only the most beautiful ‘now’.
No danger, no threat.
No hiding.
Even the last mask
that once hid my real self…
gone.

All that’s left is…
you.

Where does my heart go when I am asleep?
Where does my breath leave to?
Where do the lost ones set their head to a last rest?
Where do the lonely ones get their sole purpose?
Where will we end and the new day begin?

Swept off to some distant dream’s horizon,
knocked down from the too far evening,
landed in this brilliant twilight between,
the here and the tomorrow…

Where did my heart go off to while I was sleeping?
Where does the night reach the morning,
and
where do the undreamt pieces of my everloving heart go?

If I could take you into my arms to show you the future,
If I could make us what you’ve dreamed us to be,
If I could be all the things you’d want me to…
I would not hesitate.

If all that is in this world,
all the tiny bits and pieces made to hurt us,
the greater ones, made to break us,
and the aches that crush us,
are to be conquered by this one move,
by me taking you into my arms,
to show you my inner world…
I would not hesitate.

If things were simpler,
plainer, maybe.
Where do we go from here?
Where will it all take us?
What is real?
And what will remain a figment
of our imagination forever?

If I knew, I’d probably cover
from my own bold thoughts.
But…
If there is the smallest of all hopes,
the nearest of all desires,
and the simplest of all words…

I will not hesitate.

The worst thing is actually to being an entry… *smiles* Can or should you start every single entry with an 'I was wondering…' or 'I thought…' as if anybody actually cared? As if anybody actually would listen? It goes with the situation, I guess. It's an illusion you have to construct to eventually write something… anything. And here I am talking on the metalevel again. Although it's something I don't like doing. Narcistic wounds and all…
Nevertheless, I was wondering today how sometimes we're visitied by old feelings we once coveted, experienced and then somehow lost. Or the feelings that we knew and that come back to haunt us.
I have no idea why, but I feel lost somehow. Like I was wandering through some wood and then lost my way. Broken even. Maybe it's a simple case of exhaustion and loneliness, maybe I am just being weary of myself. Maybe I am listening to myself too much or not enough. Who knows.
Maybe it's the prospect of moving again. Wherever I go, as soon as I get settled I need to move off again. I just wish I could stay some years in one place without knowing when I'll move on. Thinking of which, it recalls me the image of Paolo and Francesca da Rimini in Dante's inferno… condemned to ever move on and never settle down to cherish what they've got.
It's like being suspended in nothingness. Being drawn to things but never being able to sit down and actually contemplate them.

Once I was broken,
so badly that nothing could ever mend the rift within me
and the things claiming to support me.

Once I was frozen,
left out in the cold land between
the eternal and the unsaid,
surrounded by the one shadow around me.

Once I was nobody else’s grounding.
Once we all were brothers…
… once we were all but alone.
Once the trees were singing to our boldest hope,
Once the only unity to be found, was within us.
And once I was the strongest heart of all.

Once the last words were of tomorrow and the never setting sun.

You were the troubled spirit and I was your solace.
Once you were but a figment,
once I was just a dreamer.

And if I ever should have wondered,
how far the only purpose can stretch,
how deep the loneliness could reach
or
how loud the solitude could be…
I should have seen the answer in your eyes,
when the last look you shared with me was full of hate,
when the last words you told me were the cutting edge,
and the last touch was your hands pushing me off the cliff of our shared feelings.

Once, I was but a dreamer.
Once, you were the dream.

I’ve woken up at last, from whatever dream this was.
Woken to a perfect unity,
Wide awake in this rare beauty of final silence in the presence of another…

Dreams change and so do the ones standing beside you.