~*~ Three shades of sky ~*~
The evening is clear
But the morrow draws near
In sunrise seek reason - find rhyme
The moonbeams shine strong
But would it be wrong
To question regret for all time?
* ~ *
There are many words, but none are spoken by the voice I long to hear.
Noise by day, noise by night, but I don't complain. Silence would only allow for thought and thinking of you would be too much to bear.
This bunk is meant for one, was once shared by two, but now carries a soul as empty as the corridors that lie beyond the cabin's closed door.
Tomorrow is a new day for some but to others, the rising of a non-existent sun and the rotation of a world gone to hell is nothing more than a repetition of the previous one.
It might not have had to be this way.
By that, I don't mean all that A.I. crap. How we scorched the skies and trampled the earth. I meant that there might have been differences in our dreary universe. Something to sleep with. Something to wake up to. Something the machines didn't have, couldn't have, and couldn't take from us.
But that moment has passed, the chance wasn't taken, and all I have left is forever to wonder if this could have been different. If right now could have been another moment in another time.
With you.
* ~ *
Would you cover deceit
Or cover defeat?
Or challenge the shadow ahead?
Through limitation
That clenching duration
They stab you till you've fallen dead
* ~ *
Tank knocks on the door. It has to be Tank. It was his steady, heavy footsteps down the corridor. And only Tank walks steadily at this time of day, with the obvious exception of Morpheus. But Morpheus walks more briskly, though his footsteps echo much more. I picture him as I have seen him before – he awkwardly carries a tray of food in one hand as the other forms a fist to knock gently against the metal frame. He means well, but it might have been easier to ignore him if he didn't.
I do so anyway.
What does he have to offer, after all? Condolences? As if. Heartfelt sympathies? Heartfelt, no. Nothing can be heartfelt unless you've felt it yourself, firsthand. Promises that I will see this through? No, thank you. Promises are made and meant to be kept, but are broken half the time anyway. A shared moment in which we could shed tears over my loss? I don't cry.
Or at least that's why I tell myself.
Tracing my right sleeve with my left hand, I run my fingers through its fraying edges. I find solace in the clothes covering my back, meager though they may be.
Why?
Maybe it's because they are as I am. Tattered. Worn. Tired of fighting, where assurances of victory are never granted, never promised.
Or maybe it's because this sweater belongs to you.
Goddammit.
* ~ *
Twisted and slain
Pleasure is pain
Let all your tension unwind
Trusting our foe
Is all that we know
We live only in our own mind
* ~ *
My nights have become an eternity of restless tossing and turning.
Dreams, haunted by memories I'd rather forget, relive the past over and over again, against my will.
Serenity that comes with presence by my side. Warmth from a smile meant for me and me alone. Comfort in an embrace that would never let go. Emotions by a touch too familiar to be ignored.
Love when your lips meet mine.
* ~ *
If ignorance is bliss, then bliss exists only in your mind. Everything's in the past now, and nothing I do will – can – bring the past into the present. I shouldn't try to savor the memories which slip through my fingers like fine sand. Reliving my memories won't make those memories real. The dreams will fade, in the end, and the hurt will return. Face it.
This is real.
Pain is real.
* ~ *
The evening is blue
And washed clean anew
Innocence painted cyan
Beauty and love
Reflected above
Torn apart, scarred by man
* ~ *
Time means nothing anymore. Other than a way to separate right now from the moment still to come, time is just… 'time'. A word spoken by man.
Perhaps in Zion, where to live is to hope, people still use that word. Perhaps to the freeborn children, time still holds importance. Only time will tell, after all, if they are to live through the day to fall asleep at night, only to wake up again the next morning. They will wake up and pray that they will live to wake up to another morning, despite the monotony of the world they wake up to.
Is the war fought to free these children?
They didn't ask for this, after all. They were born, but they didn't choose to be born. They are scared, but they try not to be. They try to smile through the smog, the dust and the grey.
They try to see the brighter side of life.
And it breaks their hearts the minute they learn that there is no brighter side. The saddest thing is, though, that some of these children never had them in the first place. Hearts, that is.
* ~ *
There are only pipes of what used to be fountains, and barren waste where gardens used to grow. Their eyes cannot see past the ceiling of rock and clay, to the sky above their heads, scorched by clouds that block the sun.
I remember a long time ago, before I was unplugged, I used to watch the skies from my window. Plain blue with white fluffy clouds were classical, but sometimes I would rise early to watch sunrise, a warm glow of peach and salmon pink fused together. Or I'd count the twinkling lights in the distance at night, when all the world was clad seamlessly in black. Sunsets were my favorite of all. For the dark blues came in that short space between noon and eve, and I loved those the best, for their quiet serenity and understated beauty. As a little girl I watched in wonder as the sun seemingly flushed my bedroom in color, playing over my face. Everywhere I went the sky was ever changing, yet so similar.
What must it be like to have never seen a sky? No stars are visible at night.
When they witness these things, the innocence fades. The children grow up to be soldiers, and these soldiers live to die fighting a war. They'll fight, alright, but what can they possibly fight for? What is left for them?
I used to know the answer to that question. Once, not so long ago. For a moment that almost felt like a lifetime. And more.
But the answer no longer exists because you don't care any more.
* ~ *
Empty crying
And hopeless denying -
Awaiting strangers they've met
Stumbling across
Such faith and such loss
Would it hurt me so much to forget?
* ~ *
Is the glass half-empty, or half-full? Is the glass ever half empty, or half full?
Mine's been both, but now it runs dry. Tears won't fall to fill it again, and the void, the hole, or anything you choose to call it, grows every day. It will grow until it becomes a part of me, and then it will grow to swallow me up completely.
It hurts, too.
About once a day, late at night, when all has gone quiet and thoughts rush to fill the empty spaces, I wish I lived in the Matrix, where nothing matters. And that's one time too many. But it's tempting. To stay in a place where wothing is real. There is no spoon. To dream it all into oblivion…
There I could deny everything.
I could tell myself that I'm not really crying when the tears fall, say that I don't feel what I do feel. Hell, I could even say that what I'm feeling right now aren't even feelings. They're just some simulation bullshit cooked up to keep me quiet. I could deny that someone came into my life, then made me believe that my life was worth living, and then actually made my life worth living. I could deny that I ever believed in someone, so much that I ever placed my faith in anyone, so much that I crossed the bold line that marks the living from the dead. I could deny that I waited half my life for what I was bound to lose. Or I could deny that I did my best to hold on to it when I finally found it. I could deny that it was worth holding on to at all.
But I'm not in the Matrix. And I can't deny reality, no matter how much I may want to or try to. And after living in this, this reality for so long, I can hardly tell if I could still hide it from myself.
Mind over matter.
Free your mind…
But I can't deny that you meant everything to me, that you were worth the world to me.
Because you were.
You still are, really.
Don't you know?
* ~ *
In width and in length
Lies weakness and strength
Leaving the moment in lies
No matter how fast
You fall to the past
The truth is in front of your eyes
* ~ *
I am ready to face them.
Tank has gone, probably to tell Morpheus that I won't open the door. Our dear captain may break it down any minute now. Alternatively he could take Tank's advice and remove the locks from the doors, but he respects the little privacy we have
Of course, if I choose to linger here any longer, he may change his mind. Duty calls, and I have to go. I've sat here long enough anyway, although I suppose you don't know that I came to visit you at all. Not that you would give a shit, really.
And what really hurts me the most is that you used to. You used to. Unless that was all a lie, too.
With one hand on the doorknob, I turn around for just a second. Before I know it, in that instant, I find myself believing that a moment can indeed last a lifetime.
You look so peaceful; it's as if you were merely asleep. Your chest rises and falls and your breathing is steady. Hair has fallen into your face. How I long to brush it away. You would feel my skin against yours, asking you through a touch to open your eyes. You would wake up completely and see me watching over you. Then you would smile. You would touch me when I whispered your name…
But I turn the knob instead and walk out into the hallway, shutting the door quietly behind me. I guess that even if I somehow woke you, you would prove that everything that comes after that was nothing but wishes.
Then I'd know that for the past few minutes… I've been lying to myself again.
* ~ *
The evening is clear
But stained of the tear
That I feel but yet still do not cry
Midnight blue shrouds
In lavender clouds
I am but three shades of sky