The End of Time


The End of TimeThe End of Time by Maria Fokas

 In the midst of night she sleeps.

Her wings fly her over the end of time, a glimpse of light and below, she sees the color white. Slowly, don’t rush it, savor that memory of your first sip. The individual slices of time we are bound to miss. I will remember all of this:

Freshly squeezed orange scent, I crossed off our precious list. Simple chunks of speech, wasted on an empty kiss. Someone take that first step; someone, but  me, I see those words appear, and a tear rolls down my cheek. How strange the ritual of love is. It scars you so deep in the cold of night, and in the day of sunlight, an empty silence where your presence should be. But those past confessions that blind. Enchanting words that mesmerize.

The many smiles I owe to you, the smiles because of you  – and for you.

And as I turn the pages, of the book we did conceive, those unwritten words, a tragedy of love disguised. To think that wings could set me free, when instead, a chain without a key. No one can hurt you if you are free, whispered, the little girl in my dream. I recalled it all – And then, nothing.

Another day like this will come, it is inevitable, I fear it’s done. But it is not the wings that promise freedom, that much I know. And in the ticking towards my end –

somehow, everything turned into nothing. And when she came out of her dream, the intent to change was gone.

For the little girl hiding, in the white houses overlooking the sea, said, No! – I will not change love to suit your needs, if I cannot have all of you then I want nothing from you, and she gave him back the key. And what I believed to be the center of my world, was merely a distraction, the little girl had willed for me.

To accept the alternative, would break me into tiny pieces.

Was it time to say goodbye?

With no heart to love, I would be lost.

What would be the purpose, to live in a world where love is a lie?

That, would be the end of me . . .

© Maria Fokas 2014

2 comments

  1. “This above all – to thine own self be true…” (Polonius’ Advice to Laertes, Hamlet I, iii). Beautiful and poignant exposé – well done.

    1. i don’t do very well in responding to such generous comments 🙂 but it certainly makes my day to see that you stepped into my imagination and felt the sadness of my thoughts, so thank you sincerely Mike!

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