What path are you supposed to take if all of them end in your untimely death? Only one of them is actually consequential, but how about the rest? Look at yourself, can you make the others’ deaths more bearable or purposeful? This domino effect always ends the same, the worthless fabric of the choices one has made.
The mirror answers you with rigor, showing you how you didn’t succeed. But you lied to yourself, all this time you’ve taught yourself how to deceive your own metabolism. Your soul rests in a dream world constructed by your mythomania, but you can’t build a connection with the real beings. The feelings you fathom are meaningless if they are not actually felt.
And now you’re facing the roads. You don’t take the shortest, nor the longest path; You just don’t walk at all. You wait for infinity to call you, to name a bridge in your honor, to have a day with your surname, to make a theorem with your memory. But the only thing that will ever happen is yourself, writing your own name in the mud left after the last storm. Throwing its fury within the tangled division of these paths. Your name only lasts until the next storm, so inconsequential.
And even if you could leave your footprint in the surface of the moon, will it be of any use? In the end, will you be of any worth?
Some might argue about my own vertiginous verbose when you insult me with your opportunist propaganda. I fell for you, just in time for the anger of blizzards, when you knew I couldn’t hold on to my ticket. You stirred up snow in front of your blindfold, making both of us limited to see beyond our intentions.
You glance at me, but you could glance beside me. I could think of fearing you, but I’m no one to hold the flood in you. A whiteout shrouds our virtuous nothingness, only to repel the leverage of this tense scenario. Because there is only you and me in this spatial Holy See.
I buried you that night, just after I watched you die for a second time. As I stand atop this vaudevillian cemetery, all that crosses my mind is one distant thought; “Apathy is a right and despair is a virtue”. The better person came out of you while you were dying; You loved, you smiled, you didn’t let yourself wither away into the vulgar minstrelsy.
But, you still died.