Whispers of The Void
- The wilderness or the sea? (Me)
- A mountaintop veiled in clouds. (She)
- Enticed by the rhythm of the rain, or bewitched by the vastness of the sky? (Me)
- By the siren call of the abyss. (She)
- I am not one to decipher riddles. (Me)
- That yearning, standing upon the precipice, to leap into the void—beautifully named as, "The Call of the Void." Does it not resonate with you? (She)
- Perhaps. I never sought to understand it. When one's existence is already steeped in the void, there is no need to chase its shadow. (Me)
- Yet today you seek the mountain—why? (She)
- For the forbidden touch of moss and vine. (Me)
- You are a liar. Has no one ever told you so? (She)
- Had there been a voice to speak such truths, I would not have vanished into the vast nothingness, like a fading star. (Me)
- Has fulfillment never graced your path? (She)
- It did, once. At the twilight of an autumn long past. The air, heavy with the fragrance of ripened pomelo, made butterflies dance in mirth. But then, I found myself unraveling—loneliness like a scalpel, seeking, searching, within the expanse of emptiness. Proclaiming my existence from the crest of the mountain. (Me)
- Today marks the final breath of our spring. Will there be no more indulgence in our shared sorrow? Shall we dissolve into the great void, together? (She)
- Not today. Another time, perhaps. The call of the abyss tempts, yet we must not respond . (Me)
- And where do we journey from here? (She)
- To the realm of strays. (Me)
- Why return there, once more? (She)
- Because it is all too easy to fall into the slumber of spring’s embrace. Yet how few choose to remain awake. (Me)
- Does fear not haunt you? (She)
- The grasshoppers are preoccupied with justifying their exodus. The shadows of men gather their courage, inch by inch. (Me)
- Have I outlived my purpose, then? Is this where our dissonant poem comes to rest? (She)
- Your purpose is not yet spent. But to transcend the endless loop of emptiness, I must break free from this cocoon. I must scatter myself like silver coins upon the wind. To live, I must lose you. You must vanish. You must cease to be. For me to breathe, you must perish. Do you see now? (Me)
- But how can I perish when I have never drawn breath? I am nothing more than the companion birthed from your loneliness. Summoned by your mind in some forgotten moment, and today, I shall dissolve—fading into the stillness of a slumbering neuron. I was never real, and I am not now. From this instant, we are sundered. (She)
A weary sigh escapes, as heavy eyes brim with an echoing void. Standing at the edge of the mountain, mesmerized by the call of the abyss, yet the feet retreat, stepping back into the ordinary cadence of life. This is not the life of grasshoppers, but a life bound by a thousand silent obligations.
Whispers of The Void
