Quietly capturing silent and lonesome and rightful further earlier events down D. Gardens and all the other regions I didn’t have enough courage to cross or perhaps my courage just wasn’t as big as hers, maniacally overflowing down some seas and papers of poetry too heavy to be read by the only person who mattered, but it was alright because I was good at everything, she said, our lives will matter with or without love, we will die one day leaving behind embarrassing laughter and sensitivities we were hating now, we will outgrow them and even miss them so I thought to myself, I might keep her painting just to remind myself that one day she may not love me any more, one day I may not remember her but I would know there must have been some amounts of pain from letting go, why not run after them grab the pieces of sorrow flush them out and be happy ever after? The thought of happiness sounded so absurd at this small moment of mute time, her muteness while I touched her with so much control, her brain and lungs and heart and veins travelled the globe simultaneously, her body so empty and weak next to mine she was so much mine, more mine than I was me.
Plato states that, “It is clear that the same thing will never do or undergo opposite things in the same part of it and towards the same thing at the same time; so if we find this happening, we shall know it was not one thing but more than one.” Given each person has only one soul, it should be impossible for a person to simultaneously desire something yet also at that very moment be averse to the same thing. Then how come I desired to possess her in any way and to be able to let her go forever at the same time? I refused to consider the existence of more than one soul per body then what did that mean? If Plato was wrong about that was he also wrong in his belief that the soul was fundamentally pure but it got destroyed through association with the body?
I decided to stop asking people what they were thinking about because if they became aware that they weren’t thinking about anything they would go mad, and I’d rather be the only mad one thinking about beyond this trivial world of ours. If I wanted to be secure, that is protected from the flux of life, I was wanting to be separate from life and its reality, but there was no reality except for the one contained in us. She comes in, I push her hard against the wall. She can’t breathe she doesn’t care she craves me so much she’d rather be out of breath with me than full of breath without me. We missed January, we missed December and November, Halloween was centuries ago, deeply rotten in her dreamy head, ‘tell me do you re-live it every day, every minute of your boring life, do you re-live my hand on your neck, our short time together on that Sunday’. I don’t ask her because I know she does. If we could locate our souls, she must have tried to grab mine numerous of times and take it away with her every time she left my place, carry it around in her pocket until the end of all times. ‘Am I right little toy? And when I push you onto another man you will still look for my hand on you to feel safe, you will know you’re mine, I’ll never be yours. I can’t let you have my soul and separate yourself from life, there is so much.’
Sometimes I thought I saw the souls of everybody, sometimes my soul was deformed, hers was as pure as the purest thing on earth. We could never really see any souls if we could only see them reflecting our states of mind, our moods under the effect of our recent experiences. One could be happy without money and resources and possessions but this sort of happiness didn’t seem to drive us take us far in life. You could be completely bluntly happy jumping on her small bed with a glass of red, spilling on her sheets and her white dress, singing a stupid song. But then you wake up next to her whether you love her or don’t give a damn, you had a blast and you just want to stay in bed, you can’t move, you can’t order her a taxi, she walks out to take the bus and all you have left is more wine and waiting for tomorrow, every day waiting for tomorrow. It’s never today. Where is my soul to remind me I am still good, I will be good and I will be fine and I will survive the death of my body and there will be more than this agony of yesterday’s happiness and her beautiful uncertainty of all things? Things are so uncertain, perhaps that’s what makes us feel reassured. I thought I had seen her spotless soul, but at this moment of timelessness I had to see my own soul to believe. How could they say that the soul exists and it is immortal or destroyed if they can’t even locate it? I wanted to feel it the same way she felt me inside of her and I imagined that she saw different worlds exploding and colliding at the same time. Can we really shine before we die? Can we preserve the purity of our souls or we’d rather give up too soon because nothing lasts forever and we don’t care what happens after death because we’d be dead anyway? How much is the impermanence of our bodies and minds reflecting on everything we think and touch? What if all fundamental things were immortal, then the soul would remain as pure as it is said to be fundamentally.
Tell me something, just one thing, tell me what do you want out of life, tell me what keeps you going. Phone typing can’t see any face, a gorgeous sunset on Oxford street I can’t fucking see anything, zombies bumping into me ‘what are you even doing here?’ Routine was more lethal than death, I kept touching my head to see if my hair was still on my head, my brain in place or it had exploded. Nobody knew the truth about life nobody but me and yet I couldn’t face it and take it in, I kept waking up for work day by day ignorant to my own genius, I’ll make that jump one day I’ll see the sky pure. When you are so close to the truth, when you feel you are getting somewhere, go all the way to a place that seems foolish and naive and irregular, escape the office with dying people, the truth about life isn’t in knowing what things mean, maybe it’s not even about questioning the existence and bigness of souls, the left-overs from Christmas decorations and why they still shine so bright. I am not going to say what life is about, go go on your own journey and you don’t even have to figure it out, just promise me to go.