Knowing you

Despite these nihilistic rants, I write, 

a small, hopelessly naïve, 

irrationally optimistic part

of me wishes we could leave this world

alive, together, either by rapture or 

second coming, not experiencing 

those final throes and violent reminders 

of a life wasted — one recklessly thrown 

away, despite what we’ve achieved or

who we’ve become. That little neon 

bubble inside wishes we’d hold each other 

and stare at the constellations while 

fireflies dance around us, ushering in 

a forever epoch of halcyon days and 

love never forgotten or forsaken. 

But I know and you know that these

moments of laughter and bliss 

are all we can clutch — begotten one 

moment from some fading beauty 

within and forgotten the next with 

the old dining chair, the table and 

the dim lights without. So, for whatever 

it’s worth, know that I’ll cherish that you 

were here and stood by me through all

the tribulation, when friends forsook 

and I wept, ostracised, never finding myself

but ever finding an indomitable anguish, 

searing the soul with 17 abominable 

fingers, scarred and bleeding like

a wretched monoku. Know that we’re 

here, going through the motions and 

though pain eclipses wonder and cuts

our sentences short, making mine a series

of monotonous umms and ahhs and yours

a sharp sigh or a whisper fragmented with 

sobs, we’ll endure as long as lines breathe 

and phrases don’t meet dust and ashes.