The Desert of Lightning

Jun 25, 2022 c

Sometimes I could see you secretly sketching people during the conversations…
…like reserving part of yourself aside to detach and criticize–one’s brilliance is almost as bleak as one’s bravery; seem to be short of proper sidelines; self-righteous in one’s own miraculous way–quick, resolute conclusions as such (looked away)
That I write about others in utterless arrogance?
As if to deflate yourself.
But aren’t we all doing this more or less?
Confronting others was quite enough.
(Why would I feel this entrenched fear of derailing if I’m the one holding the pen?) You’re probably right.

It was still early when we got there. I waved at Adrian, an indication that he should come over and huddle with us. Adrian’s gaze traveled from an aged evening to this moment, and I stopped looking at his eyes. The party drowned everyone off. The next morning I woke up and realized that shattering is never ending. Everything–shrapnels, pencil shavings, syllables and punctuations that we thought were unbreakable–is being shattered into smaller, more insignificant particles that would allow us to indulge in.