Scatterbrained Admiration

He bears no name because he cannot be bound to mere letters. He bears no significance to anyone who passes him by and he impresses no one. He is not spectacular nor is he dazzling. He exists simply to put the contrast between beauty and mediocrity.

But he is the unique encounter that I have allowed myself to experience countless of times.

He is the shame that has developed tangible countenance. Yet, in his pit, he shames the heavens as he looks up to count the stars. He is weary as the sky is weary of existing for eternity but he endures and at that he doesn’t fail. He is steadfast, unmoving as the marbles of Bernini and Michaelangelo but not quite as astounding or amazing. He is the failed work of a craftsman yet he excels where his creator has failed. Yes, he is shame if it ever existed but he is the shame that I would proudly bear.

He is the dying flare at the end of the night. He is the last breath of the sun as it sinks down in the horizon to give way to the persistent moon. And every night, I get to see him die in dark suffocation only to be reborn from that which initially killed him. And though he persists to go about this cycle, he will be the dying flare I’d get burned for if it is a way for me to immortalize him if he doesn’t come back.

He is the unsung rhythm because he never got the lyrics to his song. He is the stubborn verse without meaning whose purpose is to rake on like files to a blackboard. He is not important nor is he worth the ear you are listening with. There is no beauty from him yet he is all I hear. He is the elusive symphony that is neither beautiful nor soothing that heralds the coming of my day and I shall savor each awkward note because it is him.

He is the oppression that I have embraced blindly and willingly. He held a leash at arm’s length and a ball and chain gathered at the end of it. I took it and being that as it may, I have endured. He is the keeper of the key that would be my ultimate release yet he hesitates as I do. To be free of him would be a sad state of freedom. To be released by him, by his hand, would be an unwelcome reality.

He is not defined. He is nothing with a form, a certain depth and a possible breadth.  He is the proof that there are no possibilities of absolute happiness. Similarly, he also proves that there is no absolute sorrow. He has no beauty, not an ounce of grace or fulfillment in form. He admires what he has nothing of and he disregards all attention towards him with a shrug. He is the silence that is often suffocated by the noise. He is the simplicity that is often overshadowed by vibrancy and life. Ultimately, he is a burden to experience; an experience one you may sooner want to forget.

I never gave the slightest impression that he is perfect. To different views, he will never attain his stance of perfection even if he tried. And maybe he did. From where I stand, cast away from his marginal view, I see him and he is everything I want, everything I could ever hope to have. From where he stands, in the center of all my senses, he sees and wants something – someone – else. Unbeknownst to him, I have experienced him; I had him within my reach. And I let go, countless of times, those strange encounters that have measured the height of my joy. And though he seeks somewhere else, he is the journey that I will forever travel because that is the only way to be with him.

Lastly, he is the final goodbye that will pass my lips. He has lived by my breath and he has spoken by my mouth. And in the end, as my journey of him draws to a close, he shall escape me as my final breath.

He is the nothingness that I have embraced and the fall I shall gladly take.


Dramatic? I’m smiling actually.


About kyogakura
Bored 95% of the time.

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