The Odyssey

 

In the haunting silence of my sleepless nights, I sense an irresistible pull, a magnetic force that binds me to you like an ethereal puppet ensnared by unseen strings. Much like Odysseus, I am lured by the enchanting songs of sirens, beckoning me towards an uncharted abyss, and I fear this time, finding my way back might elude me. The very ground beneath my feet slips away, and the approaching waves echo the fate of countless others swallowed by the sea's depths. Yet, these threats cannot stifle the courage within me, for in the welcoming embrace of air, I've already conquered the echoes of despair. Fully aware of the impending tumult, I close my eyes, surrendering to the invisible currents. It is paradoxical, for I discover weightlessness never felt amidst the crushing burden I bear.

In the whimsical memory of the past, where laughter filled our home at the mere whisper of “To be or not to be”, a string of innocent words etched a lyrical cadence into the rhythm of our existence. Like a troubadour strumming the strings of whimsy, you wielded Shakespeare's timeless verses on the silliest of subjects and the most futile of debates, a mere incantation, yet it worked its magic. It coaxed smiles from the stoic and a charm to disperse any awkward silences around the dinner table. Now, I find myself entangled in the echoes of those six words, a spell cast upon me that I can’t seem to escape. In the soft lull of the night, I grapple with the enigma they pose, for what I deemed to be one of your playful ways turned out to be a soliloquy of your heart, a tale of stories untold. A lament unfolds, and I mourn the naïve girl I was for not seeing it in your eyes, tales of sorrow so deep and a muted plea for a secret to keep.

You used to let me hold your little moleskin notebook from time to time. You insisted on only buying those because that’s what Hemingway always used and you would even read me some of your poems. But now you no longer write. You’re silent and distant, and you know that isn’t right. We had a secret language, you and I. But how do I find you in the realm beyond rhymes? I yearn to break this silence, to breach the divide, and resurrect the pages where we used to confide.

You were the hand that guided me through every first step, and even held me back together in case of a misstep. Never treating me like a child lost in the adult’s domain, but the only one to actually see me in true joy or pain, never once wearing the condescending look of wisdom that only comes with age, for the heart’s turmoil knows no measure or gauge. Into my room, you would quietly tiptoe to join me where I retreated under the blankets, turn on your little flashlight and lie there next to me in quiet secrecy under the soft hues of your light. You would whisper to me with a conspiring air in your eyes like you were to tell me the biggest secret in the whole wide universe: “You know what? Adulthood is just an act.”

In the pages of time, long after our story had been written in the cosmic script, I stumbled upon an article that spoke of the brightest stars extinguishing first. The revelation echoed in the chambers of my heart, for you were the brightest star in my sky, my unwavering true north, a beacon of immeasurable worth that anchored my journey in the labyrinths of life. Yet, somewhere in the cosmic swirl, we lost our way, and the North Pole I always sought for guidance began to fade away. You pointed Orion for me one cold December night, but you could have told me that much like you, those bright constellations will live only to tell ancient tales of the past, a testament for all that couldn’t last. No longer do I look up at the vast expanse, I quit stargazing the moment we lost our chance, now I am content with what is left for me on earth.

I am lost, utterly lost, a mere ghost in the maze of my own body, a memory that only shines through the spectrum of your warm gaze. I pity the “me” you would never see, and mourn the “me” that never came to be, for as always, reality’s canvas betrays the decree. I am now a soul unbound by the dichotomy of desires, I don’t know if I should blame you for all the dreams that were left astray, because you never told me that there is a price to pay? But then I feel like I am one of your criminals because you held the responsibility of protecting my childhood upon your shoulders. But you also were still a child, a few years older but still a child, holding a weight even Atlas couldn’t bear. I wonder whether I weep for the could-have-been, a flickering mirage, or for the ghost of me, forever haunted in the deep blue of your eyes, how’s that for a Shakespearean tragedy?

Do you know that you are the cause of my manic obsession with blue; I turned to a collector of anything of that hue. They call blue elusive, nature’s rarest gem, yet everything I see now is a living canvas of your art, your brushstrokes covering every part. My vision is blurry, the candle I burnt in your name is melting in the cemetery of my heart and the weight of your anchor is pulling me down, but I can’t let go of the pebbles in my pocket, for each one is a reminder of you. Yes I am clinging to it all, but I don’t mind the fall if you won’t fall away from me, for I no longer recognize myself without this grief.

You must remember that azure notepad you got me for my birthday? You told me you could feel I had some words in me, a potential to embrace, but did you know that I would slash my throat open to get the words forming a lump in my throat. That I would bleed time and time again, not with crimson, but with ink, wild and free. I finally gave a voice to unsung melodies you left buried in a far corner of my heart and a stage to the tales I’d weave, for in blue ink I’d finally found reprieve. But I fear that I am running out of pages, and that my words are bleeding to death, how would I feel your presence if I no longer perform my sacred ritual?

The waters grow tumultuous, a tempest echoing the unrest within. I find myself swaying in synchrony with the ebb and flow of the tide, caught in a relentless dance of uncertainty. A realization settles in – the deeper I plunge into the azure expanse, the more I am ensnared by the consuming blackness of the depths of it. In the distance, a glimmer emerges, akin to a precious pearl teasing the edges of my perception. Fueled by an unrelenting desire, I battle against the current, fully aware that each foray into the water amplifies the risks. Yet, a scarcity of what remains from you propels me forward. If this is the toll, then so be it.

Amidst the struggle, a new memory floats the surface, the page is yellowed, the words are blurry and the ink is washed out, yet a symphony of harmonious laughter and sweet giggles soothes my soul. It was the first time you taught me our secret game, together, we ran barefoot along the shoreline, attempting to cradle the essence of a wave in our fists, only to retreat as it crashes upon the shore. In a breathless revelation, you imparted the secret: “You know it’s easy once you get the gist of it, it’s all about the timing; feel the ocean’s rhyme but always respect its time. You just have to know when to retreat”

I walk out of the water, a cascade of droplets in my wake and fall on the sand, I feel like I can’t breathe but I have the world rarest jewel within my grasp. And like the waves meeting the shore for the briefest of moments with the clandestine promise of coming back echoing in the sea’s song, I know, that I will be back before long.

Achoik Tahiri