Guys Like Us

Posted: August 13, 2015 in Introspective prose

When your life is dark, light is just a fleeting memory that lingers mockingly. And so against all advice not to, you hold to the past—you hold on to memory. Letting go means losing all the light, it means losing all hope. For the past holds all truth in this cornucopia of chaotic madness. The past reminds you that nomatter how trite and futile this life is, there are ghosts that will forever understand you—ghosts that once danced merrily in the vast plains of your lonely heart—ghosts you let down once but never more.

And so you hold on to your amorphous ghosts; pale spirits devoid of all memories yet still better companions to the ones you now have. Even though they are just figments of your own guilty conscience, you hold on to them nonetheless. They are the core and they are the roof, without them you’re just a wisp of shadow.

There is no virtue in letting go, this a proven fact. You might try hard to shout in out to all shrinks and people who think they know better but they never will understand. Letting go severs all compunctious sentiments and you realize, when the time comes, that letting go was never one of your quiddites.

Why move on when you can linger in utopian memories? Why let go of the beautiful faces and warm smiles that gave life to your heart? Why burn bridges to the few people who helped you hang on to your sanity when your whole world was topsy-turvy — people who knew the right words to selflessly motivate you for the greater good? There is no reason to let go. Instead you have every reason to hold on to the memories (meager as they may be) and let them be a beam of hope as you swing into the unknown future. Let them be a beacon as you wonder into the mystic.

The past may be obdurate but the future is relentless. It waits fully armed and it drains us of all happy thoughts. The future is full of longings and regrets and yet we look forward to it. All we do is hope, all we do is pray. We pray to all known entities for we are not even sure of the right deities. Simple and insufferable idiots as we might be, we pray not for riches or gold at the end of the rainbow; we pray instead that after all has been said and done, we’ll still be holding on to our wits—we’ll still be holding on to our marbles. This is our essence, Guys like us, this is our threnody.

Life goes on and we leave the people we once were behind. It’s the continuous river of time and we’re just mere silt caught in the undercurrent. Rivers flow into seas and seas into oceans, and yet we get tangled early downstream. It’s the rhythm of life, you just have to take what you can.

David Phiri 2015

  1. Mrs Phiri says:

    Great piece of work


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