zenith.
I begin to feel myself contract,
the diminishment and reduction of spirit smother my feeble frame. I am numbed in the face of the day’s murderous light, it burns my proportions down, gradually searing my edges. The ravaging Sun continues to blind me. I need an escape from this agony as
the day brightens by the second.
The Companion can only offer me so much support, a simple thought. Then why did it take this long to set in? His security would soon be lost, the constant rapport vanished, his sheltering figure no longer a comforting guard. I had done all I could, persisted as long as temporal laws permitted — for hours, I had followed him, quietly trudging in his wake, exuding as little life as existence would allow. In any case, my voice could never breathe. After all,
darkness doesn’t speak.
And so, onward rushes today’s purgatory, a hellish phase confronting my weak frame. It would be anytime now — I wearily stare as it conquers the heavens,
the looming Sun will have its way.
I am thankful for the Companion, and for his unfaltering support. Though I know this dependence of mine is cancerous, gradually leaving me as I am now, unable to even fathom lifting a finger without the Companion raising it with me, I wouldn’t have survived any other way. For I can’t imagine what this hell would be like
without the insulation of my skin.
I had known him for hours and my love for the Companion had become inherent. How couldn’t I adore him? He had been loyal beyond obligation, facing the wrath of the raw world and sheltering me from its blinding pains. His posture was erect in a perpetual defiance. His strides were graceful glides across the unforgiving terrains. His extending presence stretched across my senses in a reassuring embrace. I needed him. I need him still. But there is little left that he can do as
this world brightens by the second.
This isn’t symbiosis. I love the Companion yet I live for him out of necessity and he, out of what seems to be empathy. “Companion” begins to seem unrequited and contradictory — I offer little in exchange for protection, my lethargic trudges in his wake, silent suffering in the dark, barest breaths from behind, all wouldn’t amount to much. But this fault surely can’t be mine. How can I be to blame? How can I be the parasite? It is I who is tethered. How he was gulled into this Companionship, I don’t know — I don’t have a way with words. After all,
darkness doesn’t speak.
In spite of his servitude, as enduring as it may have been, can I assuredly presume that the Companion, too, loves me? After all, he has never spoken to my eyes, his voice reserved only for contesting the harsh world. With the sun now blinding, I only see his frame, an obscure dark outline, tentatively balanced between discernibility and utter ambiguity. Yet even in clearer hours, the Companion still eluded clarity. Is he here now? Has he ever been? I have persisted in him without ensuring that the obscure dark frame wasn’t a trick on the eyes. No. The Companion must be here. If not, who had been guiding me? How have I sustained this far? He had to have been. For I can’t imagine what this hell would be like
without the insulation of my skin.
I am further suppressed with each surge of the rising Sun as it beats down harder on my skin. Though this onslaught is not entirely foreign — I was birthed from pain. My younger times, too, burned with such ferocity, my youngest times with ferocity greater — my young pains, at the least, ceded their oppression and ebbed away with the night. At the very least, there was night. These present chronic moments burn with rising intensity,
with the rising sunlight.
The night hours have left a void. Perhaps with blinding pain, reminiscence is synthetically sweetened. Yet my longing for the night is undeniable. I expect it would be this way, constant with all those birthed as darkness. The nighted permitted movement, allowed liberties unforeseen — I was even free from the Companion, though I still kept myself bound — but the night was murdered before I ventured far. The consoling blackness was impaled with streaking yellow rays, incising fatally. The night was a parent, a home, a comfort, but one that had elapsed much too soon, before I could exhale completely. In fact, reminiscing now, I wonder, if truly,
did I ever manage to breathe?
At least the Companion will survive. He will withstand my imminent purgatory. But then why does his posture seems worn with the burdens of darkness? Why have his strides slowed by the clinging cargo? Why do I feel him contracting ever so slightly, in tandem with me? Nevertheless, the Sun is high. My time closes. I love the Companion though I never show it, I never can. But the Companion, my love, or my voice,
it matters little come the light of day.
I begin to feel myself contract,
the day brightens by the second.
Darkness doesn’t speak.
The looming Sun will have its way,
without the insulation of my skin,
this world brightens by the second.
Darkness doesn’t speak.
Without the insulation of my skin,
with the rising sunlight,
did I ever manage to breathe?
It matters little come the light of day.
In a few seconds,
it will be noon.
And, with just a moment,
the Sun menacing overhead
will destroy all darkness.
And me with it.
Whether rebirth follows, I am unsure.
If so, I await to be rebound
to the Companion.
Though I will again only trudge in his wake
until noon returns to destroy me.
For I am a shadow.
I live for the night
and die with the Sun’s peak,
without uttering so much as a syllable in protest.
After all,
darkness doesn’t speak.