How does one know the feeling of being alive?
Is it when you're bleeding? or perhaps, When you're crying from the pain you've been experiencing?
Loudness, It is one that fills my mind.
Longingness, this, that fills my heart.
Every tingling sound of the clock,
Every beat of the music sheet,
It fills me.
Climbing the tree,
Taking a step as much as one can,
You suddenly stop.
Excitement,
Anticipation,
Wildness of the situation,
All of these causes our hearts to beat.
But, why?
Just one step away,
We reach and gain this freedom.
The irony is,
You did not, You will never get it.
Take me away,
As you whisper those words,
I am lost with words.
What the eyes don't see, the heart doesn't grieve.
Therefore, trembling at the top,
concludes one scenario.
Existence.
< Khain's Melancholy Poem buzzes the heart of the people once again! >
Eden read it to me sarcastically, as if I can't read on my own. He is currently standing in front of me, with his one brow raised, and eyes that seem to curse me out.
"What?" I folded the newspaper he threw on the table and immediately discarded it. I know the reason why he's acting like this. However, I, too, refuse to be bound by anyone.
"How many times have I told you to stop doing this?" His voice was rather calm, not how I expected.
"38 times? or maybe…50?" I wasn't sure which is which, but I guess that made him much more annoyed.
"For God's sake, Andres!" He started grabbing his hair aggressively out of frustration, which I didn't give much thought into. He calls me Andres, a name he derived from Alejandria. It's weird, I know. But Eden is just the way I actually expect him to be.
"Look, I don't know why you're telling me to not do it. It's my passion and the recipient of my heart!" I expressed this countless times already, yet, he just won't listen to me.
"You mean writing about death is your passion?" He was angry. All the time. But he wasn't wrong either, neither was I.
Eden cared for my image, and he wanted me to explore not just one, but different genres of poetry. But all I do is write for one thing. That is, Death.
Death means nothing to me. But sometimes, It does mean a lot to me, inside my heart and mind. The thought of it inside my mind is vague, but very concrete. It's simply a love and hate relationship I've had with that word ever since I got into this field. Just as Eden couldn't truly understand my works, he, too, does not really understand the meaning of my existence, and the breath I take each time.
"Of course! Why else would I exist if not for that then?" He looks at me, as if saying that he can never win against me logically, or irrationally. One thing about Eden is that, at one point, he looks at me as if he would give the world to me, full of affection. However, at another angle, he would look like he's been plotting to kill me for a decade or so.
"Can't…Can't you just do this for my sake?" He asked. I ponder his question. It wasn't even a question. It was a plea to hear him out. To understand, and act for one time however he wants me to act. Eden always has to deal with my stubbornness, and I always have to deal with his nagging. I figured I should listen this time. He wears a look that wants to jump anytime now, after all.
"I'll do it. Stop giving me that look." Delivering the news to his ears, travelling through his mind, he became delighted. Almost as if tears were about to fall off his cheeks. That's Eden for you. A simple, soft person.
Now, what he wants me to do is to stop writing death as my genre for some time. He wants me to write another genre, other words, another piece. But that itself would be hard. I am one with the dark poem genre, and it is hard for me to write something I do not genuinely feel. May it be physically, mentally, or socially. Death was easy for me to write up until now because It's what I feel all the time, and I've tried several times. But how can I write when I don't know the feeling of one thing that leads to another thing?
"Love. I want you to write about Love." His words almost choke me up. The words he used that reached my ears almost made me want to tear apart my own ears for the sake of not hearing it. Out of all things, Love? That Love? What a load of crap.
"What do you mean you want me to write about Love? I did not agree with that. What we agreed on was me taking a break from writing dark poems!" I raised my voice, it was inevitable. Love is not something I can just write. No, Love is something I will never write. Yet, he wants me to do what? Love? He must be dreaming.
"Exactly as it is. You can take as much time as you want, you will see that not just me and the company, but every connection you have right now will refuse you. Do you think I don't know that you sneakily publish your poems without anyone's knowledge, just as you've done with this one?" Eden held the newspaper and pointed out the article highlighting my newly published poem. He's crazy. How the hell did I stay with this crazy assistant of mine?
"Then expect me to die with nothing but death, Eden." I am determined. Death may be scary itself, but it's also my companion for a lifetime. No one can separate me from it. Not even the Gods above.
"You're stubborn, Andres. I'll be expecting no news from you for a long while, so take your time."
"Oh, and expect me to not die without publishing your poems expressing love. I'll make sure I will be able to publish it." He said, leaving the apartment. Now, he decides for himself. Unbelievable.
'How do I even start?' is what crossed me. The simple question that lingers for a long time, eating my thoughts, messing my heart, and destroying the puzzles of my words. Love, how do I see it? Where can I feel it?
—
Staring at the table where I'm supposed to be sitting, I saw two women talking. I paid for the seat, but I'm not some crazy woman who would drag them out just because they used what was meant for me.
'I guess I'll just head home.'
Compared to me, where I sit for three whole hours, drinking my tea, without saying anything, without interacting with anyone, completely fazed through the window, I would say they should just use that table. After all, it looks like they're dealing with much more important business than me.
"Miss, wait!"
A woman, who seems to be familiar with me, stood on my side, and held my hand. She was panting, so it made me amused.
Why is it when we stand at the top, building or not, with death in mind, we tremble? We gasped for air, looking hurriedly thinking that we would die if we lacked it. when we were standing there solely for that purpose. To die.
This is why Eden won't ever get me. The exuberance, the emotions that's flooding within me just by looking at one simple, average person. A poet can only write what they think, they feel, and how they perceive things. Love? I have never experienced that before. Nor did I try thinking of knowing it. Because Love was not the spark of my life, Death is.
One simple action could lead me to think with many, different perceptions. Just as how this woman is gasping after running to get ahold of me. Beautiful, isn't it?
"To what do I owe you?" I asked.
"You're the woman who always sits there, am I right?" She pointed out the women who've been seated at my seat.
"Right. And?" I took my sight off them and leaned in towards her, who's now standing in front of me.
"The management would like to apologize for not informing you in advance, the owner had no choice but to hold the job interview at that table since there's no available table anymore besides that. The office is also under renovation. Hence, we would like to offer you a discount the next time you come!" She explained thoroughly. It did not really mean anything to me, but I am thankful for the actions they took.
"It's fine, I'll be back tomorrow. You shouldn't apologize for not contacting me in advance, since you don't have any information about me at all, anyway." I smiled, I transferred the vouchers on my hand that she placed on my hand earlier.
Before leaving the cafe, my eyes insisted on seeing one thing before it took off. To which, it landed on the woman who was sitting at the opposite chair of my seat. The owner sat on my chair, on the other hand.
The hair that fluttered her surroundings, it made even the owner insignificant for a moment, she was shining. brightly, at that. As I stared at her cherry-like lips, I concluded one thing.
'Nice to meet you, Doris.'