Over and over again. Flitting between scenes from the past, scenes of the future. The torture bringing the same feeling to my eyes like the spray of pepper from close distance. It burns, stings and causes the relentless hopelessness of never being able to recover the ability of pure sight. I am with you and not with you. I try to turn and see myself walking further. I see the footsteps getting covered with snow right after I take them. No point tracing them back. No point making them further. So I’m stuck within a comfortable lake of warm quicksand, sinking further into quietness and a desperate sense of reality. My quicksand provides me with a sharp razor, a bottle of pills to ease the sinking and the new sense of relief quietly arising from my toes all the way to my head. It’s a warm cup of hot chocolate. To not know when your next breath will be compromised. To not know when your eyesight gives up on you. To not know how the deep chocolate quicksand turns into a scary shade of red. To not how deep the red would go. As I sink into the comfortable arms of oblivion, I see you. Farther and farther away, inching just so slightly towards my slumping body. My scarred body already under the process of scarring some more, wilting a little, inch by inch and breath by breath. My bathtub flows red. My wrists flow scarlet. My floor flows vermillion. All shades of red no white in it. The prism of a light streaming in through the crack in the door warms me up slowly. You are still walking towards me. But oh well, you’re as invisible as my dying breaths. I try and smile back at you, I hope you caught me in the middle of it. I’m almost at the entrance of my next big adventure. I get excited and sad at the same time. I might never be able to see you. I breathe slowly. I breathe consciously. I still breathe. The bottle of whiskey runs dry and the vodka forms a protective circle around the tub. I don’t have to step into the world anymore. Protected by the very substances that are as volatile as my own life is. Funny how my own existence has been reduced to a crappy analogy against a drink. I now smile to myself knowing that you won’t be reaching anytime soon. Ah, this trick plays well. I only have to imagine you beside my bathtub, touching my helpless body, staring at me, tracing your fingers against the outline of my cheeks, and the thought of you makes me happy. I can still see you, smiling at me, closing in on me but I have to go. With the longest breath I could’ve ever taken during my lifetime, I breathe. I breathe all the smells, love, happiness and hope and keep them as a balloon inside my heart. And I leave.
I am awake now. On a pristine white sheet, covered by the softest cloud of a blanket, against your shirtless body. Why am I awake here? Is this still a dream? Have I ceased existing and now in a worse place with my current situation just a waiting lounge; waiting for my own self to lower into a decrepit abyss? I look at my hand where I was slashing away in the midst of the quicksand. A white patch of gauze. A tiny circle of scarlet still willing to show its own face but nonetheless controlled from ever erupting at the wrong time. Now I look at you. Still so peaceful, that lingering smile on your face from knowing you have me here. Gently, I put my working hand on your chest to gauge your presence. I don’t want to keep my eyes open anymore. That slow and evenly spaced heartbeat I missed for so long. You’re here now. Slowly, through a parched throat and dry lips, my raspy voice calls out your name. Two syllables and two pairs of lips. I think I’m still alive and that big adventure of mine, postponed by some more time. The sunlight lights up your face and I feel like living in the shadows your body makes. You are now slowly opening your bright eyes, a couple of more rays of sunshine streaming out through them. You smile at me, grin at me, pull me closer to never let go. “I’ll always save you”, you say. And save me, you have. Through thick and thin, through bad and good, through life and death, though all the different veils we pass through, you stand there, arms wide open, hoping to catch this small, frail body to only get some more time for us. Dreams still come true.


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