Unsigned

He was the invisible boy, carving his name on my translucent heart.

Day 6th of Spring


Journal, dearest, I thought I had a mind like your paper bending in hurricanes, and it twirled even if too brittle and empty to whimper my inked doubt. Of my mind: I can never catch it in glimpses, because my eyes are forever cagey, and the blue is too vibrant for veiling, too murky for lanterns, so then there is never light in my dim. Just a crowd of shadows gathering early to fetch me ideas, and I heard there is something inside my head. From the outside, and I hear it as well; just as well, as well, from the withins.

I'm confined to your fading lines.

So I'll own up to my chunks that I carry of him. Know, Journal, that when I wanted to hold him, I wished I minded to speak instead, because I still could. I would have explained: "Whatever you were to me, that you still are. I being I, and you you, we still are " things of love that are as simple as when I slipped over the room next doors, two or a quarter, and, half of the way, corridors glance at our lives spent here in white. I cherished you when we were hunting names for unborn babies, the most beautiful words (not Words, because they have independent meaning, unattached from bodies) captivated, as we assembled clouds (Nimbus), sounds (Echo), luminosity (Aurora) and colours (Amaranth) " no patterns involved in our unnatural processes. And whatever you were, you are, underground, beneath my flesh." that would be my unspeakable truth, carefully chosen confession in the absence of his candid touches.

There is ever more words flowing from my leaking being, however. I wanted him to know, and understand, to sell my prospects in favour of brightening his. I'm free, no currencies besides the coins he would shove inside my pockets. But he left uncharged, nevertheless. This is no individual letter, but if, if it was, I would have wept him longer. What, you ask? Only what I have to say. My life is pathetic, and you are bound to catch it, soothe my unacknowledged lonesomeness. I pity you, Journal. Nonethelesser, I ought to have told him: "Your age is between ever and never, love.", and that is all I recall of my muses. But he should have known not to be afraid. He is me, after all, and him too, I am, and what is 'us' depends only on both our becomings. I talk to you of folly, of my shreds of hope piercing practical matters, of all the nonsense I rented. And I'll tell you more of him, his wonders and worlds. What was, never, real.

The sky used to be tangible across his picket fences and beautiful against his skin. A reason why I safely keep proofs of his own journals of his things of alluring core, that he was all made of. And I wear all his echoes in my skull, his adorned paragraphs hanging from my collarbones, when I smile at the airspace's resilience on existence. Invisible things always dared me the most. I once wanted to consider invisibility truth, Journal, if I may address you so repetitively, thus why I don't see him anymore, and that, then, all things I can't see only subsist more plainly out of my narrow reality. My reality though refused to allow me in. So that now… Now, I am privy to the sorrows of humanity's verve. I observe, merely, the quaint dog statues and magical gnomes on the front yards of houses, residences with such ugly windows, darling. Always closed, and you know, he used to say, "Windows are the fundamental element of every home."; I must believe that he meant well, I know it too, all that he once did and meant. So I write on your passive leaves, to know myself instead.

It's a secret Journal, that I will confide in you, to unleash it from only my tiny impound: I never knew a part of me unwritten.

And now I'm invisible.
Just that.

Yours,

Author's Note

Eyes shut, heart open.

All feedback is much appreciated, always. ♥

Reviews

[A. Amos]

You words your writing is brilliant my friend, I was kind of lost while reading your work simply a different journey of reading. I have to say you are gifted writer my friend and looking forward to read more of you.