I’d give up all my words to spend an eternity with you. I’d crumple these sentences and toss them in the bin. I’d give up on language, meaning, symbols, hieroglyphics, and the art of saying one thing and meaning another if time ceased, and perpetuity carried us, making us drift through stars, planets and comets. A soothing smorgasbord of celestial beauty and atmosphere. Syllables and sentences can never replace experience, and I’d give it all up if a wondrous hand carried us to realms of forever-rosy-hued dawns, the purplish-pink clouds dispersing the night and causing an interplay of light and darkness, or a sweet, pensive juxtaposition of then and now, evoking sharp longing and solemn hallelujahs. This life, so restricted by cares and concerns, turns ennui into weltschmerz. We’re here together, but we can never have what we want as long as dread and disaster plague us. So, I long for a life with no surprises and pain, except maybe the gentle melancholy of ripe reverie telling us we made it. I long for Autumn’s mild glow, the brownish leaves dancing around us while we hold hands, and the mellow tone of crickets chirping in the distance. I’m not a quintessential romantic with visions of snow-coated, bluish-green prairies, but I think we’ve earned those hollowed-out maple trees with their eerie allure comforting us. The dying reds and oranges of fall symbolising that we fought and lost battles, but won the war. As I listen to Radiohead this evening, I wonder if I must continue expressing this storm within me. Giving it the torrential language of creation or destruction like a visceral cry into the void. I’d put my laptop aside to spend an eternity with you, and if time must have its say, I’d rather spend moments with you than write about it. Your innocent laughter, your charming gullibility, your prophetic wisdom, and your kindness mean so much more than all the metaphors in the world, connecting beauty to love and vice versa. They mean more than all the allusions, resurrecting dead poets and making them whisper sonnetic aubades into our ears. Knowledge makes us view things in myriad perspectives and paint our poetic canvases with abstractions, esoteric sayings, auguries, and connotations. But what is knowledge without love? I’d place all my books back into the cupboard and turn off my laptop, even if I reach the apogee of learning, because I’d rather spend moments, epochs or eternity with its melodies and bittersweet nostalgia with you.
Photo by Erik Witsoe on Unsplash
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