A Celebration of Self

A eulogy to my Fair Lady Loft. May she dance forever, hungry and full now that she is young again.

You burst into my world a whirling wind, a thundering storm that ripped clear through my fences, tore down my walls and melted me into your core.

You entangled me in the vines of your thirst. The further you sucked me into the haunted woodlands of your weary soul, the less I yearned for my shattered home.

You became my home. The home I was never meant to have.

You transplanted my roots into your fertile soil, and I grew proud and lean while you pumped your blood though my veins.

You shone through my eyes.

This morning, I woke to the void of life without you. How long have I been here, suspended in hope, hiding from an awful truth I dreaded enough to keep you alive against all odds?

Once again in this lifetime, I am reminded of my favourite poem, the one you liked so much for all the same reasons: Muerte Sin Fin, by José Gorostiza.

¡Tan-tan! ¿Quién es? Es el Diablo,
es una muerte de hormigas
incansables, que pululan
¡oh Dios! sobre tus astillas,
que acaso te han muerto allá,
siglos de edades arriba,
sin advertirlo nosotros,
migajas, borra, cenizas
de ti, que sigues presente
como una estrella mentida
por su sola luz, por una
luz sin estrella, vacía,
que llega al mundo escondiendo
su catástrofe infinita.

Knock-knock! Who is it? It's the Devil,
it's a death of untiring
ants, swarming
Oh God! over your fragments,
have you died up there,
centuries of ages ago
unbeknownest to us,
crumbs, lint, ashes
of you, who remain present
like a star belied
by nothing but its light,
by a starless light, empty,
that reaches earth veiling
its infinite debacle

Silence is a cold blanket of snow and ice, serene in its emptiness, beautiful in its serenity, sad in its beauty, pristine and sobering in its sadness. It grips the heart in an agonizing embrace of loneliness.

Today I am not proud nor lean. My veins have collapsed in the vacuum of your silence. My eyes are dense with sorrow.

Tonight, I shall weep myself into the sleep of the innocent, nestled in what memory I have of you, sucking your breast, moaning in my sleep.

Tomorrow, I will be brave again.

I never needed to be brave with you.