You always wanted to die young.
And I would go numb at the very thought of it. We were both the riders of destiny albeit a different one. In the moments of tangled fingers and mussed clothes, you were always distant. So close, and yet your eyes would say the whole truth of your absence. Those gold crystals would feel so lifeless. I always wondered how can gold be so icy. We, the smudged souls, would lay by each other’s side as time would creep by in the same old wise footsteps.
Wisdom. Sometimes wisdom is not enough, nor love. Life was never a case of contention for you. You were a being, a creation of existence in search of an identity that was never there and I was just a dream. Tomorrow awaited a new morning and another dream. It was a game worth playing, and you went hard at it.
What do you call a win when all that is lost is you?
The burning ember tip in the thin fingers of your pale hand and I burnt with it until your face would turn to mist in all the smoke. One after another, till morning light. Every morning light has a story to its advent. An untold tale of how night faded away in a faithful sacrifice.
Faith. Sometimes Faith is not enough, nor death.
But, like I said, you always wanted to die young.
I still wonder about the gold…
