[private] Unloved, undetermined -- Kavi

[Insignificance]

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A wasted heart is a terrible thing to carry. A broken heart. That’s what they like to call it, no? It breathes into your mind a picture of something clean-cut and simple, like cracked glass. My heart did not feel broken as I turned away that time; it felt hollow, like someone had clawed into my chest and scooped part of it out with the bluntest thing they could find. It did not feel heavy and shattered – it felt badly, achingly, unbearably empty. It felt as if I had been giving and loving and giving, only to have everything taken and nothing given back as I had left it all behind. I felt as if I could have wept a storm, collapsed into stardust, become something furious like a hurricane. But I couldn't, and that I guess, is part of my curse. Maybe if I had done all those things, I would have allowed myself to stay by his side. But I had fled. Left them all behind for a life that was no life, a mere travesty of existence, until one day – those memories obliterated me. Until one day, I forget how to forget them. I kept telling myself that I didn´t know what it was that brought me back here; a whim, a smell, or the sensation that I was slowly running out of time. Well, the sad truth was that I so desperately missed a presence at my side, a gentle living creature to break my morbid solitude. I so desperately missed the touch of skin, of life, of a shining eye alight through the passages of the endless night. I shouldn´t complain – faith had been kind to me although I was certainly undeserving of the blessings Beqanna had bestowed upon me in the form of Kagerus, my brave little warrior-woman and my oldest friend, Americus, sister and mirror-mare. I loved them deeply, coveted every moment spent in their company and swore to never again stray far from their side. But they are not him   Maybe that stupid longing is what made me wind through the breast-high grasses for a brief moment of solitude. They are savanna-colored, I notice (my mind seems to find it easier to cope with the grasses rather than the world - as if it holds too much of everything; beauty,innocence;joy for me to comprehend) , in their last days of life as winter creeps upon them slowly. Honey-yellow shrubs collect along the edge of the meadow, crowding it like hedges. Like that I wander, lost in silence and to my own abject mind.  And I thought, as dreamers are wont to do, when all we have left of our dreams are a handful of memories that trickle away like sand and sorrow that shadows the turn of the neck, the fall of strayed hair. Mourning creatures are gloomy burdens. Even their breath on your shoulder feels heavy and blue, and you wish that they might cast off their sadness so that it wouldn’t rest at the back of your head like a corporeal black cloud; so that you wouldn’t be tainted. I know, after a life of mastering the art of yearning, and so I tried to fold my grief into something small and press it into the darkest side of my heart. I don´t want to be a burden to them. And I guess I succeeded, because here I am, as empty and hollow as ever.    All I need is a little time to myself to tuck those morsels of longing away from my faithless heart.  insignificance