Who left you so?
Things get in the way like rain on the windshield. In the beginning, it's a smooth cruise, an
uninterrupted course, a pleasant journey resonating with perfection- without speed bumps, the
speed is a pulsating eighty kilometres an hour, and the breeze is cool, fresh, hitting you in the
face with the sweet intensity of joyous splendour. The sun is up, not too bright but bright enough
to be disillusioned into happiness, and the sky is clear, blue like the ocean; wispy white clouds
adds to an ecstatic high.
Time heals; time screws.
The smooth stretch of road will only last so long. There are speed bumps of jealousy, red lights
of misery, separating islands of time, interrupting traffic, roadblocks. You don't even realize the
shift in the gear, from the fifth to the fourth to the first, the speed coming down, and the day
darkening, the night drawing nearer and nearer. To make things worse, there's rain-sweet,
drizzling rain- but before you know it, it's pouring, pouring so hard, shattering the windows with
the fierceness of the strongest storm, and your vision's blurry; there's barely anything you can
see. Darker and darker now, there's not even a moon to guide you through the night, into light,
out of this mess you've created for yourself, out of this tunnel that's blocked from both sides.
Eventually, as the impending crash that you so vehemently denied draws closer and closer, you
know there's no way out, this is it, it's too dark, hope too vacant, and everything will go wrong
now. The breaks will crash, the night will be all encompassing, the gears won't work. And they
Importance is as flexible as time: we move in and out of lives like tides. Suns come and go;
moons brighten and fade away. We find ourselves at the bottom of piles, at the back of lines, at
the corner of eyes, and, finally, not in their vision at all, because the darkness of forc