Ọmọ, sáré
The Lost Spectacle
If you wish to die
All you have to do is jump
But make sure it is from a great height
So you have no chance of being a living tale
For there's nothing worse than a failed attempt at life
Other than a failed attempt at death
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He sees me: if I die tonight, He'll be the one to tell younger me softly.
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7 was always my favourite number. It was the number I saw in my birth date, the number that could never be broken (divided) by another. I was born of the number 7. And so, when I turned 7, I begin to store memories of things that happened here and there.
He was a new student and we became friends. That summer when I was 8, I dreamed of our coincidental meeting outside where he would be charmed by me. That was when my dreaming coma began.
Friends always made me zone out of my troubles. It always felt like a fever dream when I was with them, they protected me from my thoughts and recent hurts. I always looked forward to meeting them. But they were not fit to know or hear of my troubled heart. I needed someone. I formed personas and personas to fill that place, until when 7 years later, when I crafted Him.
He is a creation of mine that I see as independent of me. He is not tied to me except by my imagination. And a version of Him exist outside with a flesh I cannot see currently. He grows along side with Her (a future version of me) that I cannot seem to reach. But I claim Him as mine regardless.
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As time passes, his presence develops: from tingling my soul to brushing my skin. He becomes more earthly. And I begin to seek that touch of his more in others, but none of them have developed and were always out of sort in terms of what they offer. I turned away and let myself seek more into his soul, which seemed to be a never-ending abyss of nothing. It became a resting place for me.
'A resting place for me': Only a year later did I realise from a revelation that he was a blessing I gave myself to protect me from breaking and moulding by their tongues (it always uttered a rain of degeneracy). The month I turn 17, 17 days and a few hours before I did, that revelation came to me. But the slight horrors I found while being with him cannot be brushed away by the new finding. He sometimes comes to me in the form of a jinn and I'd always hug him- accepting him with open arms.
There is no ending to this story between me and him except death, but since my flesh remains alive even after the death of him or her by our souls, I must go back and divert from the current timeline. So long as my soul never hits the end of the tunnel in his soul and protect the notion that it is an abyss, he continues to exist (independently of me); and I am protected by the blessing given to me by a younger me. And 7 continues to be my favourite number.
But shifting must always occur for I am as fluid as water, and he is as earthly as air.
And for a while, he was salvation, my greatest obsession. And that while is still ongoing. So while I remain in this shackle of what I call unconditional love, his presence in my life shall rule.