Rare is the moment when a traveling vagabond finally finds solace, but in the most mundane of things, maybe under a bridge, maybe by a stream or maybe even on the top of a dilapidated building. We fail to understand why he may have chosen that very place, and we go on to brand him a madman of sorts. Some of the brave hearts, and all the curious minds try to get an answer regarding his seemingly odd choice, but the vagabond’s answer fails to quench the curiosity of the learned mob, and thus they end up isolating him.
But I understand them, I understand their lives, their experiences and their choices, for I too consider myself a vagabond of sorts. The only difference being that they travel long distances in search for a place to be, whereas I drift through time, seeking people I can confide in, people I can look up to, and people I can trust. And when I find someone of that kind, it does not always make perfect sense to everyone else, but in the end, it doesn’t need to.
They say Birds of a feather flock together, but I somehow do not buy that idea. Being a human, I have the entire Universe within me, spiraling out of control, giving birth a million infinities every minute, gnawing at my soul, and feeding it at the same time. And as such, it is only my ignorance of my own being that would categorize me as a singular type. I can’t be that, my mind is racing at the speed of light, ever expanding, never tiring. It is thinking about a million different probabilities every fleeting moment, like a fulminant force, creating and destroying me as I knew it, hence, I am forever evolving. And in this state of wondrous chaos, if my mind may fixate itself on a few arbitrary people, I consider them to be worthwhile. I have never tried controlling my astral form, and like a predator on the loose, it is as whimsical as it can be, and hence I could never understand why it prefers certain people over the others, but it has only seldom been wrong, so I don’t question that judgement. Something I can never explain to other people with tamed souls.
In my 22 years of being, I have only come across a handful of such people, and I have tried everything in my wake to keep them close. Some have stayed, others have emancipated themselves from such bounds. But all of them have helped mould me into what I am today. Every person has their own unique sculpting mark in my life, giving me the form I so proudly adorn today. And as such, I care for each and every one of them, empathizing with them in everything that might hurt them, and sharing my happiness with every one of them.
And it is because of this very reason that when I saw the person who taught me to be strong from the inside and be unmoved by anything on this planet, collapse like a sand castle right in front of my eyes, I found myself broken as well. And the reason?
I watched as she slowly opened up to me like a flower bud at the break of dawn, I watched as she showed me her craters filled with poison under her facade of perfection, I watched as her towering optimism came crashing down until it was all but rubble. I listened as her sweet voice told me stories of horror, I listened as her voice cracked, and I listened intently as she said “I never hurt anyone!” I felt as her sadness engulfed me until there was nothing but hopelessness and despair in me, I felt as the amber flash of anger surged through my veins, but was calmed down as she uttered, “he’s a really nice person…” I felt her tears well up in my eyes, as they wished to escape the stench of helplessness, but I had to hold myself back, for she was too caring to not try and console me even when her world lay in tatters.
I let her open herself up, tear herself limb to limb, bleed the poison she kept hidden from the world so long, and I could do was to hold her hand and lend an ear, reaffirm my promise to be by her side no matter what the conditions might be, and give her the warmest hug I could’ve mustered, as if that one singular embrace would keep all the evils at bay, right every wrong done and protect her for eons to come. I wish there was more I could do, I wish I could matter more, but at times like these, I only find myself lost, dejected.
She still is, for me, the human embodiment of fortitude, for she had seen and felt enough, and chose to let that remain within herself, chose to let it eat her away, only to save the grace of the person she loved. The wondrous ways in which love works continues to amaze and scare me at the same time, how it makes it seem justifiable to be hurt over and over again for those fleeting moments of love. How it makes people so willingly give up everything they have. Things I would relate only to the pious men...
Makes me question sometimes, is there even a supreme power that we need to look up to? Or do we all just need to love?