Islands

As morning touches me, I'm still awake, full of the blankness of night. Insomnia is not the right word, because I'm sleepy, yet I know I can't sleep till I'm sleepy enough. Dazed with this strange, almost-there clarity. I keep grasping at fleeting epiphanies, yet they keep slipping past by an atom's breadth. Silence has always been a great friend to me, forever understanding, forever accepting, yet never satisfied.

Though silence never complains, it being silent and stuff, but one can see it in its eyes, that cruelly innocent eagerness that looks forward to the next moment. It shakes me, everytime. I've never been one to give up, not yet; but neither can I move, I feel like a mote of consciousness trapped in frozen time. So, yet again, even as it kills me, I kill the wide-eyed, innocent silence. I hear my heart beat once, I see my body move ever so slightly, the volition behind it is perhaps one of the most painful things ever experienced. I smell air, and feel it entering me. Yet again, a moment dies, and another is born.

The good thing about hotel rooms; they don't have clocks. No annoying ticking, no constant temptation to steal a glance at the mesmerizing play of passing seconds being counted. You feel free, free to try doing a bit of nothing for a while. It feels good, for a while, and then you are captivated by the silence, yet again, you're invited to stay in this moment, forever.

There are people who stop to smell the roses, and there are the ones who stop to smell the corpses, their choice, what can I say? But once in a while I almost envy the ones who stop, and forget to start, they've achieved the Holy Grail of laziness - perfection. Fucking brilliant.

You know, all you say or do will ultimately be absorbed into the past of the future. A part of history? Sure, but an infinitesimal one, an invisible one, eventually. So what's the use? I wonder, ultimately, it comes down to survival, first through life, and then through memories, but both end. After all, you are an island. Boats will come, and go. Bridges will be built, and burnt. Tides will rise, and ebb. But what separates you and me is not just water, it's more than that; more than space, time, or life. We live in two different universes - separated by us, our consciousness, this paper-thin impenetrability.

It's such a pity to think I'll never know you, of course I may know an earlier or later you, but the you now, right now, belong to these words. Only they will know you as you get to know them, and then you both change. Really, such a pity, but that's alright. After all, you, and I, are islands. And this morning, as hard as it may try, will fail to change that.