I walk alone in the darkness of the night, as I do, my memories begin to cascade through my deepest self. I lay down on the damp grass, gazing at the stars into the nothingness of my soul. Now I feel alone but there was a time when my life was complete and full of joy.
Suddenly, I hear the softest whispers, whispers that bring hope but sadness as well. Whispers of those who still live in me through my memories. I pay attention as they caress every scar in my empty shell. It feels bittersweet, and I embrace the feeling: It's the only way I feel alive.
Loneliness is the price I must pay for not being that which I had to be. And I walk alone without physical direction but with a purpose in my soul. I have carved a path searching for those whispers that linger in my soul, hoping some day to hear them and see them as they rejoice in our unity again.
Scrambling away for refuge in the dark my memories dissapear, as without warning a specter lurks over me. I used to be afraid of it, but now I look at it and feel pity. It used to rob me of my quietude, now it's only a grotesque parody of what I used be afraid of. Only the whispers show misgiving and fright, because they think it has power over them. As I glance at it, it states at me with disdain.
© David antonio rodríguez ventura