“What are you doing here?” she asked, pulling away.
“Just holding you,” I murmured drowsily, gently pulling her close.
“This is inappropriate,” she protested, squinting. “And what’s with that light?”
“This is only gratitude,” I replied. “Nothing more.”
“Gratitude?” she scoffed. “I don’t even know you.”
“I know,” I said. “And I don’t know you, but thanks to you, I know a thousand words for the color blue, and so I dreamt I was the moon creeping into your window, spooning you, comforting you with borrowed glow of yesterday and tomorrow, coiling your secrets into the crux of my crescent, never to see daylight again.”
“Oh,” she said. “You doing this for all of us?”
“Yes,” I said. “Now shh!”
And after a pregnant silence, she said, “You know we’re all gone now, right?”
This is a tribute to the victims, survivors, and families of the Kyoto Animation Studio arson/mass-murder that claimed the lives of 34 innocent and brilliant artists. I don’t have any more words to convey my grief and sorrow, but if, like me, you ache to flood the void caused by this act of hate with acts of love, contribute to the GoFundMe setup by Sentai Filmworks. Other ways to help can be found here.
I fantasize about us meeting then
In a fantastic azure-tinted dream
Much younger and separated by when
Brokenness united us seam by seam
We’d fill each other’s empty cups upstream
Before believing lies that lay ahead
Would we have been what we needed instead?
Fate’s retort; refracted blue parallax
Long before our lines of fate had been thread
Laughing, spinning, spooling, mending blue cracks
on not a single tree
nor even a blade of grass,
warming a barren earth for no reptile,
nor even a single bipedal mammal
to bend a knee
in humble worship of Ra’s
once life-bringing magnitudes.
I won’t try to tell you how to feel about that
nor will I implore you to stand up and
do something to slow the inevitability,
for even if we collaborate to stem the tide,
it will happen inevitably.
One day the sun will rise alone,
scorching an already sterilized planet,
eradicating every gaudy man-made
monument to ourselves, and we
just may knowingly accelerate
this unavoidable fate
I won’t tell you to save a world that is
well beyond our combined will to save,
for it seems like hubris to even
entertain the notion of saving a world
from the cosmic nature of its
saving our planet, to me, sounds
as ludicrous as saving our lonely sun
from burning though its
finite supply of hydrogen,
and then its helium,
collapsing into a
cooling carbon cinder
of its once majestic brilliance.
But why won’t you think of saving the sun?
We’re wasting its resources, you know.
Why not warm your house with clean coal
and save some of those precious
hydrogen-fused released photons?
I won’t ask you to do that
because that would be utterly ridiculous
and just speed things along and
I greatly prefer slowing things
as much as those
though I won’t ask you to recycle either,
even though it would be rather kind of you
to join me in doing so.
I won’t tell you
to protest Big Oil
and petroleum products
because the cabinet full of pharmaceuticals
extending my lifespan, health and comfort
would compel me to mock my own hypocrisy.
But our planet is dying and
one day the sun will rise alone.
That was always going to be the case,
though we are helping to speed the process
significantly, and with cosmic indifference
bordering perverse zeal.
I won’t sit here and tell you to
get up and go do something about it.
But do get up
and go do something
for me; stand up
and take inventory
of the beauty and wonders
we’ve all taken for granted
from time to time.
If you’re fortunate enough
to experience the ongoing miracle
of waking tomorrow,
go stand outside and listen
to morning wipe the sleep from her eyes,
unfolding her wings, singing all around you.
If luck favors you with a summer rain shower,
let it soak you to your pores
and breathe deeply,
inhaling her perfume.
Observe regal, billowing,
wispy clouds march overhead
towards the horizon,
dissolving from view,
but still existing in both
mystery and memory.
I’m willing to wager that what you see
may cause you to gasp as you tenuously
grasp at your own insignificance,
and maybe, just maybe,
you may find yourself compelled
to preserve some of these moments
a few moments longer.
It’s not much;
perhaps even too insignificant
to make a sliver of a blip
of a microbe of a difference.
But one day the sun will rise alone.
What will you do until then?