For a man who spends his quiet nights chasing ghosts that lurk around corners without a motive, for someone who walks quietly into the shadows of a dark night, I wonder if there’s any part of him that believes that life exists outside anymore. Beyond the dark corners of his heart? He walks into the cemetery and searches frantically, and weeps and weeps on the tombstone of a man he once knew. Rumor has it, he killed the man buried under the tombstone. Then why does he cry? What is he looking for? What have you lost? Whose dreams were you chasing that you let go of yours?
Let’s rewind 5 years of his life now. “You came to me a long time back, like a friend should, like a friend would. All I see now is a faint shadow, which crawls back in and out, afraid of quiet sunsets and dark nights. I remember a time when you walked the shallow streets like you owned every sleepless night. Now you’re merely one to walk amongst it. No different than any ragtag junkie or a scavenger. A bitter irony, this story, of a man, reduced to nothing more than a faint shadow of the man he once was. It’s not often that you see a man burn and come back as nothing but ashes of his own reflection. No, it’s not the Phoenix. That return was triumphant. This is just sad to watch.”
“This is my dream! Raise objections, ask questions, shout, shudder, ponder, abuse me! But you raise a finger and I’m taking your arm for it.” I remember you shouting out to the world. You were on fire.
Then you made a mistake. You decided to walk away. Leaving behind an empire of dust and sin. You left it to rust, you looked away and you walked. I remember the anger, the cries of a million dead dreams, and they all surrendered; frickin’ surrendered to the roar of a lion. The wild untamed beast that you had become. Welcome to the dark side! You asked us to embrace it. The lifeless nights on old forgotten roads and empty streets. What happened to you, man? A man of quiet anarchy, a man of fire and wind and magic. How could you forget everything and walk away? I know the inspiration runs dry, I know that the music doesn’t sound good anymore. But you have to come back. You deserve more, you deserve better. You’re frickin’ better than everything you’ve put yourself through. It’s a tombstone of a dream you once killed. The ashes of which you scattered over the face of a broken-down, faceless society. It’s a thousand stories that you massacred. Come back, man. The anguish of man crying over broken dreams is one that this world can relate to, or maybe not. But that’s not your problem. That doesn’t matter. Come back. The dead have been known to bury them out. Don’t give up just yet. These ghosts haunt forever. Come back! Rewind! Watch the world go backward, watch time turn back.
Yesterday’s dead. Yesterday’s buried. Sing your songs of tomorrow, you’re only young until you tell yourself you are. We can’t always walk away from ourselves. We can’t always stand on thin edges and stand by what’s right. Sometimes you have a story to tell. Tell them your tales. Never kill a man who has a story to tell. Our todays are yesterdays’ stories and ‘tomorrows’ become stories too. Tell them a good story. You tell the world a good story because the world needs one. When you tell them, a lot of them will relate to it. And you ask them whose dreams were you chasing that they let go of yours?
Never let them tell you that you can’t stand on thin edges of an abyss without falling in. It’s the inner depths of reality that you can never come back from.
And so, “On the day to the last, when all eventualities come to pass, you’ll know it has been a good life and one hell of a ride.”