This World

The snow is still falling, the blood is still boiling, the cold wind cannot warm this world, and I am still piecing together scattered memories in this destruction after destruction, delusional about that starting point I cannot return to. In these starry, fleeting rays of light, I am missing, or perhaps grieving.

My world, with high walls piled high, can hear your knocking, urgent or slow. I can sense the crowd surging around, yet I curl up in a dark, narrow corner, gently touching my own heartbeat, silently gazing into the distance.

In the next moment, I believe the dark clouds will scatter, and I too can raise my head to glimpse a beam of mysterious moonlight in the sacred sky, then in the clear night, savor it, toy with that faint touch of sorrow.

If... if there is still an "if", I gather the remnants of breath, stir this suffocating despair, and strike the sky a final blow — fatal, yet in vain. At the end of the world, I will leave myself a handful of yellow earth.

Where the mind reaches is not what the heart wants; what the heart wants is not what the deeds are loyal to. Whether it is ants storing food, eagles snatching food, or vultures waiting for food, the thought of the self is not the thought of the clan, the thought of the clan is not what the deeds of all the clans are loyal to. Life is one point connected to the next; we choose the next point from this point, or is life that thin string that ties the kite, drifting with the wind and waves?

I like the wisps of light from nicotine breaking past my fingers and scattering in the air, my most faithful messenger, delivering true knowledge between mind and soul, tirelessly telling that ancient legend. I like the heartbreaking chill after getting drunk, as if standing on the highest peak of another dimension, watching the decadence of this world, staring at leaves being stripped one by one, striking the putrid hearts of all beings, raising a thin layer of old dust.

I prefer even more to brandish a long sword, looking down upon a river of blood, slaying every demon and monster in this world, restoring a clear sky to mortals, propping up a falling great hall, turning back the raging waves.

Yet, you are not here, I am not here, this world is not here. You and I have no ordinary life, and no glory. Time flies by; I seek only peace of mind; to be a wandering ghost for a lifetime is fine.