Auryn Beorn: The Night Corner

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Waiting for you

I can't remember when I sat on these steps to wait for you. All I know is that it feels like a long time. You asked me to wait here, no matter what. You said you'd be back in an hour, but the truth is that I have no recollection of what happened. Did I really see you show up? Were you the one carrying that needle in your hand? I don't know. Those images are blurred in my memories, then they fade to black. I can just say that I'm here, waiting for you, as you asked me to do. But there's so much I don't understand. I feel empty, and... is this cold? Why does it feel so dark? Why I cannot feel my body anymore?

I'm scared... Where are you? Will this wait take any longer?

Saturday, March 21, 2015

Mourning

The story of my life isn't but the story of the stories I choose to remember, imagine, reinvent, and tell. Some of them get better and more detailed as time goes by. Others, richer in pain, gloomier and darker. Others cease to exist as I no longer feel interest for them. And others have a special place in my heart, because I was never able to remove the knife.

"I mourn my mother. I mourn my other mother. I mourn so many people that are still alive. When did my life turn into a cemetery of living dead?"

Wednesday, March 4, 2015

Death at sea

"She's ready, and willing," I heard behind me. He was looking at the sky as he was saying. His expression was sad, his lips were turning down. I walked until my feet were covered by the water, and looked up. The moon light embraced me, and I smiled.

I lowered my head and my eyes met the red clouds. It was a story a thousand times told in the past. It will be told many more thousands, in the future. My future was written in their color. A gift for our Gods.

"I can't do this," he said to me, as I started to kneel in the water, following the ritual. "It has to be done," is all I could answer.

"The Gods are cruel," he continued. "The Gods will take me. I will be safe, and we will meet again once this is over," I replied. He shook his head in disbelief. Then I started to lie down.

I felt his fingers closing my eyes. I felt his soft kiss on my forehead. He put the necklace around my neck, his first gift, and then I knew, it was the moment. "I love you," he said, and walked away. I knew he was crying. Once I was drifting in open sea, I started to doubt. "What if the Gods never existed? What if I have just been left alone, facing death at sea?"

Sunday, January 18, 2015

Cold heart

Everybody wears a mask, and during our life, we polish it, adapt it to the image we want to see reflected on the mirror, and tell ourselves, this is me. We repeat it until we no longer remember who we are, deluded into believing that we are the image on the mirror, forgetting that there's something under the mask. Someone. The real us.

I have chosen ice and blades for my mask, and I have called it Patience. I can listen to you as long as you don't walk too close. Close to my heart, or close in your words and deeds to the memories of who I was once, which is someone that I now despise.

When you reach me, the blades of my mask will hurt the two of us. I am used to live with my bleeding wounds, but you will walk away, and when you turn around to ask me why I did hurt you, then you will realize about the smiling ice on the mask. You will leave me behind saying "she deserves it, she has a horrible cold heart." And I will turn around and go back to my dark places, hiding my tears and painting nightmares with them, under the stinging comfort provided by my perfect, cold mask.