>This won a school writing competition 2 years ago
Why does it not burn, is it because it occurs at a frequency so high now? Why does it not emit light? The universe says it does, the universe will make it bright. I can’t find where the tissues are, the abjuring tissues. They used to be on the shelf, or perhaps again, the universe decided to sport its’ deceptive mantle? The joints in the knee are maimed, and all purpose has been rejected yet again. The impact is too strong.
Why does the flame emit no light? After all, the lights were off and it was night. The trails could only be discerned because the universe tells me they are so emotionally imparted. What’s the purpose of the multifarious universe? Why does it scorn?
The echo spawned again, this time in another form; “I want to die…”, was it her, or was it the universe? I think tissues could quell both. I don’t want either of them to die, I love both of them, even if they’ve hurt me. Beauty, even against the convention of beauty cast in light.
“… want to die, want to die”
Why did I keep on falling, I did, after all, tie my shoelaces and bind them against the whim of the universe. Where was the switch, for I have concluded that casting a light may be conducive to the ultimate mitigation? I cross my fingers, and hope that my shoelaces shield me against the whim of the universe.“Don’t die, universe loves you, it really does.”
Another collision occurred, and I found myself loathing the universe. Why are individuals, who hold tempers and rationality in equal hands, treated like playthings by the universe? I wish the universe were an individual; that way, I would be able to afflict on it with all my might until it would be too painful to even emit wax.
“… just let me, say it.”
An image flashes in my head, one of a clarity untouched for a long time, and with it, returned some sense of rational judgment; she was on the bed, clad in clothing that was obviously thrown on because they were at the top of the cupboard pockets, with her hands covering her face. She would not reveal her face, but I continued prying at her with the tissue in my hand. I knew she was beautiful, I knew her eyes were big and that her skin was delicate. She threw her arms around my waist, and that is when I fell, which incurred her sadness further.
“The universe never said for you to hurt anyone, meaning you can’t hurt yourself. It does the job well enough by itself.”
My hands infer a box, and the inference travels through my body; my brain realises futility, and thus, I discard the box by pushing it off the edifice it was on, resulting in a loud thump.
“I don’t care if you don’t love me, but can you feel love?”
Everything is grey or black, and it has been that way for a long time, yet the bland chromatic scheme presents so much beauty and insight. The wax seems to have faded, but I should nonetheless pursue the tissues.