Dark And Beautiful - Blog Posts
Transi by Eugenia Bathoriya
Golden mornings and cool sea breezes brought them together.
Playful touches turned to yearnings with depth.
Days passed and love grew.
Until one day a shadow came uninvited.
Soon enough hell broke loose.
Still they managed to find their homes in the arms of the other.
But fate is bitter and sour and cruel.
It took away the black haired boy from his lover.
And left the other to grieve forever.
But what no one saw was the rage deep in the blues.
While the golden haired burned the world alive,
fate watched in the corner scared and small.
When the Trojans took away his home, his love, what could Achilles do except grieve for Patroclus.
And his grief brought the mighty warriors to their knees.
Troy did not not lose the war. Nor did the Greek win it.
Achilles grieved for Patroclus, and soon enough the war ended.
I am at 69 posts and I am overjoyed at the humorous sexual implication. And, as with any joy, I wish to share it with the world; to scream it from the rooftops for all to hear. Thrilled, I rush to my keyboard to quickly type out a short joke. However, I am met with a dilemma: if I make a post about it, the source of my joy will be no more, as it will be my 70th post. But, if I don't make a post, no one will ever know that it even existed in the first place.
So I must choose: should I commemorate this beautiful moment and, by doing so, end it? Or should I preserve this moment forever, but never celebrate it? Which kind of death is more real? To die in public or live in secret?
I save the post as a draft and promise myself that I'll come back and choose. I come back but I don't choose. The post just grows longer and longer as I promise myself, again and again, that I'll make a choice next time. If I can just perfect it, if I can just string together a flawless sequence of words for my thoughts, then the correct choice will be obvious - then I won't need to live in this moment forever.
My therapist tells me this is a recurring thing for me: to be caught between wanting to live in yesterday and wanting to control tomorrow. I think I'm scared of change. I think I feel small. I think I'm scared of being alone. I think I feel small. I think I try to control the things I'm scared of. I think I feel small. I think I try to bottle and taxidermize joy instead of feeling it. I think I feel small. I think showing people my joy is a proxy for feeling it. I think I feel small. I think death scares me but I donβt know which kind scares me more.
On one hand, I wish I could live in the moment and celebrate today instead of trying to preserve it. I wish that I spent more time making decisions and less time deciding. Despite being obsessed with time, I rarely cherish or enjoy it. On the other hand, I wish I didnβt need to publicly celebrate my time. I wish I could just enjoy something without advertising my joy. I donβt feel comfortable feeling anything unless you see it.
Caught between two bad coping mechanisms for deeper fears ways to cheat death, I think the only good choice is to delete this post, to accept that a beautiful thing happened (past tense) and to love it for an unimportant moment by my unimportant self. I think the only good choice is to love and live myself, even if I canβt do either forever. But, if you are seeing this post, you already know what choice I made. And, if you arenβt seeing this post, then you never knew that I made a choice to begin with. To you, dear reader, this post exists in quantum superposition - live and dead, made and unmade - until you read it. Like Schrodinger's cat, I exist in the blur between yesterday and tomorrow; I only live or die when you look.