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literature
Mystic Singularity
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Literature Text
Prescient amnesia. There was something I needed to say… oh well. It mustn’t have been important. Can’t shake the apprehension. Needed to tell you… what? Living a transient vision as a time-being disembodied. Red. Cherry and Strawberry hues. See you yet I cannot; you fade in and out of perception – only the red of your hair, the blush of your cheeks, the summer sky in your eyes tether me. I am in-between. Don’t get me wrong - I am alive, perhaps even more so than you. There is something, sssomething I must tell you, but the words elude. Please sit and relive with me the singularity treasured within my fracturing mind – the only memory, my first Kairos, the day we met. Maybe then the words will come…
The first words you spoke to me under the elm at the hilltop that sunrise. Stood motionless in the wake of a poem I at first didn’t quite understand as you smiled and it was like you were the other half of the sun. Lest I made a fool of myself, a reply:
A hand to your mouth and an overacted concentration breaking into a giggle. The twirl of your emerald dress and you invite a conversation twisting this way and that. These first words we spoke to each other waxed cryptic, amorous, philosophical. Time seemed to flow in crosswinds – future and past against and with, creating a stasis, a calm around us as temporality stilled, but alas.
Sunset. Woke. Under the elm, facing west, you beside me, eyes closed in calm repose. Cherry and strawberry hues. They caught the light and glowed like flame preparing to erupt into sublime passion, the sun’s mirror. Gently, I woke you.
We rise. You turned half away then looked back at me:
And stopped upon hearing my stumbling words, asking for a promise that we could continue to meet as such. A moment of tantalizing silence and the light dimmed. Then you smiled, clasped your hands behind your back, nodded, and disappeared into the receding light, into the aspen trees. The wind smelt of night.
I am your doubt and your conviction, the memory and foresight you wish to shirk. I am the in-between, the both, the neither – perhaps more alive than you, but more dead within than I might admit. Something, sssomthing wrong. The words elude me, they elude. I c-c-c-can’t, These years separated. Once more time-beings entangled. Maximal minimal. Fleeting visons. This… No! Don’t speak. Not just yet. Once again at the crosswinds of time. You are what tethers me. Tether me. But these are not the words. Let us go. Let us away to the elm again, this time staying after the sun sets. Stars we will see. A breeze carrying nocturnal scents, rustling the leaves and grass. Comets, galaxies in red and blueshift. Your voice will recall the music of the spheres. What I need to say will come – the next Kairos I will find – by looking into your eyes, the celestial Mysteries reflected in them.
Minimal,
Tabula rasa,
白くなるかも
The first words you spoke to me under the elm at the hilltop that sunrise. Stood motionless in the wake of a poem I at first didn’t quite understand as you smiled and it was like you were the other half of the sun. Lest I made a fool of myself, a reply:
Maximal,
Bildung,
罪かな
A hand to your mouth and an overacted concentration breaking into a giggle. The twirl of your emerald dress and you invite a conversation twisting this way and that. These first words we spoke to each other waxed cryptic, amorous, philosophical. Time seemed to flow in crosswinds – future and past against and with, creating a stasis, a calm around us as temporality stilled, but alas.
Sunset. Woke. Under the elm, facing west, you beside me, eyes closed in calm repose. Cherry and strawberry hues. They caught the light and glowed like flame preparing to erupt into sublime passion, the sun’s mirror. Gently, I woke you.
We rise. You turned half away then looked back at me:
さようなー
And stopped upon hearing my stumbling words, asking for a promise that we could continue to meet as such. A moment of tantalizing silence and the light dimmed. Then you smiled, clasped your hands behind your back, nodded, and disappeared into the receding light, into the aspen trees. The wind smelt of night.
I am your doubt and your conviction, the memory and foresight you wish to shirk. I am the in-between, the both, the neither – perhaps more alive than you, but more dead within than I might admit. Something, sssomthing wrong. The words elude me, they elude. I c-c-c-can’t, These years separated. Once more time-beings entangled. Maximal minimal. Fleeting visons. This… No! Don’t speak. Not just yet. Once again at the crosswinds of time. You are what tethers me. Tether me. But these are not the words. Let us go. Let us away to the elm again, this time staying after the sun sets. Stars we will see. A breeze carrying nocturnal scents, rustling the leaves and grass. Comets, galaxies in red and blueshift. Your voice will recall the music of the spheres. What I need to say will come – the next Kairos I will find – by looking into your eyes, the celestial Mysteries reflected in them.
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A stylistic experiment for my prose. I'm considering using the romanized equivalent for the Japanese, but I sort of like it the way it is.
This was inspired by the prompt "minimal" given by SeptemberSkies2298.
This was inspired by the prompt "minimal" given by SeptemberSkies2298.
© 2014 - 2024 Resplendent-Dawn
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whoa!! i have to say this is some brilliantly done stuff here. So alive and so multi lingual! Great job! and very nice!