White windows

Life is like a candle, burning slowly and eerily through a long dark night. By the time it is daylight, it burns out. Candle has but only its own fire that burns with its very own fuel to keep the night lit.

I have walked several roads in this life that I’m leading, and my fire has dimmed at times, and at times it has even gone out – But there has always been something or someone to lend a hand and light it again. I may not be the brightest light in the darkness of this night, but I’ve been the most jaded one, and I have been the one behind your shadows and silhouettes.

I have lived in this reverie of reflection. Somewhere between the shallow lights and simple lives that peak through the high windows of the crowded factories and houses lined up by the highway, and the insecurities of my own heart, I have lost time and sensibility, and have yet survived.

Sometimes I look back and wonder who I am and with this retrospect, I wonder where did I lose the pearls and whatever happened to the silence of the petals? I sometimes recall the map of emotions, and how I had marked it with my innocent mind, thinking if I keep walking a straight line, no darkness will ever harm me, and in my perfect little world I had been happy, until “life” had happened. I remember my blind eye towards the approaching clouds of realization.

I remember Fresh Prince and Full House and I remember cartoons – I remember everything, and then I forget it, and out there in the eternally dark landscape of life, memories are lost … what is left is just a tiny little spec floating in the void, not dying and not really living either – those are the thoughts that engulf me through the sleepless nights when the tide is high and the lighthouse fails to shine, and in the mornings where the sunrise spreads desolation over the fields, and the afternoons when the sun shines too bright and the evenings where sun bleeds too low.

But in this nothingness, when I pass by the white lights in the windows and the unknown lives within, I feel like there is a little fragment of my soul lost somewhere in those clustered, shadowed rooms; a bittersweet part of me that never will be again.