10 032. Night

As the nightsky descended on us, I remember how our twilight, just as the hour before twilight of the rising sun is the coldest. It takes me to a place that is so cold, a place where all hope truly is lost. A place where pain has transcended the senses. Where emptiness is the only truth to the point where it fills everything. Thus plays the strings of my heart. Thus echoes the voice of the only one my arms will ever long to hold. At dawn something new is born, during the light of day it looks plain and ordinary, when the night falls my mind get room to play and in the coldest hour there is emptiness. This is the cycle I am stuck in. This is the never ending loop of you and I. It doesn’t require your involvement. I have enough material to recreate you for myself. And it seems I quickly grow tired of the emptiness. I grow aggressively bored, and if there is nothing to destroy, if I have burned all bridges and carried on to burning all leafs and the trees they cling to. If I have vaporised the oceans and blasted the atmosphere, erupted the core and swallowed the lands, covered them with lava and drowned them with the vast emptiness of lifeless sand and dust. If there is nothing left and you aren’t returning to me, I will start creating. I will become a goddess of these lands and gift it with new life, curse it with a longing to grow and abandon it to wander searching for meaning. There is no meaning, I would say. I was just bored.