I’ve turned the page, albeit with reluctance. The pages preceding were laden with lost loves, new corrections, beautiful cities, crumpled addresses, and forgotten cynicism.
But these things were familiar. I loved them.
We learned to rely on one another -
I, on their desperate endowment of hope and they on my inability to cease to thirst for more.
The false certainty that exists in the past eats away at me.
The idea that the very thing that promised me nothing could now be proferred as an elixir for the bitter and unforgiving newness of the present is laughable.
The World is before me, behind me, around me, hell, under me and, yet, I have no concept of anything certain.
Carpe Diem.
What the dickens could that mean these days.
Did the fellow who first uttered these words, do the people who live by and subscribe to such a philosophy know that today merely becomes yesterday’s certainities?
Should we then, instead, live for tomorrow, whereby tomorrow can become the means of forgetting or, rather, the only beautiful way to love today?
Oh Love, that wilt not let me go.
And so on.
For me – yesterday was sitting on the curbs in Prague whilst discussing the Fall of Communism,
watching the sun rise over Castle Bridge,
and drinking in the idea – mind you, only the idea, as to truly be present was of a time that I may not claim as my own – of living, fighting and dying for freedom.
Yesterday was the nights of tears, affection and release.
Yesterday was the most pointless quest in the world – only to steal just a bit more precious time.
Yesterday was that last Moment and Look.
You said it.
I said it.
And then, oh god, we walked away.
Is today to always belong to yesterday?
And tomorrow as well?
Are they all yours?
Or will it fade into tomorrow, be left on the streets of Prague,
the empty words that you hold the inflections to,
or will your part of the hill
- the bit that sees the sunrise -
always hold what my side
- the bit that sees the twilight -
will always lack?
–L
