Young Writers Society

‘There is a tangible magic in this world,’ you say, ‘look into a mirror, you will see it.’

‘Am I the magic?’ I ask.

‘Yes, every one of us. We are unique. Unique even in the infinity we are living in.’

I nod; I never argue with you. You take my hand and press my fingers to your lips. Warm against cold.

‘Isn’t it an ethereal feeling?’ you ask, your face animated. ‘To know that there is no one like you. Your singularity is visible in your thoughts, in your words, on your fingertips.’ You kiss my fingers and look at me. I smile.

‘I’m glad you understand,’ you say. I look away. If your words were to be immortalized on paper and let off into the world, people would never look at the universe the same way. You would be touching lives, giving it sense or direction. You would make the ordinary extraordinary. Instead, you picked me to be your only listener. And I don’t understand anything.

You are now lying on your back, staring at the sky. You once said that the sky existed so that man can feel protected. I didn’t know what you meant.

‘There is no one like us, you see,’ you continue, oblivious to my unease . ‘And yet we are not alone.’

‘You have me,’ I say as if in conformity to your philosophy.

‘And many more.’ You glance at me to see if I understand. I don’t have to pretend this time, you can see the question in my eyes.

‘Take these unique people and dig to their bones. They are alike. We take this basic structure and create an identity. Without that we are all the same.’

‘Is that bad?’ I ask with no cognition.

‘No. It says we are not alone.’

~

If only.

If only I had been courageous enough to ask you what you meant all those times you spoke about not being alone, I would know what I was to feel now. The wind whistles in my ear, the noise making it lonelier than in reality. There is no hand stretched towards me, no one holding me safely; I’m falling, and Death is waiting. What do you say now? I want to ask.

You always said that at the last moment of a meaningful journey, when we are at the end, we must remember we are dying a hero. I asked you why we couldn’t be heroes before the final moment.

‘Because the fight is not over yet,’ you had said simply. I took the words on face value. Now, when I’m flying or falling, I don’t feel like a hero.

‘Do you remember what the poem said?’ you asked one day. There is only one thing that made your eyes light up like it was feeding on the very energy of the world. I might not be able to comprehend your ideas but I could read you like you were me.

‘Two roads diverged in a wood and I took the one less travelled by?’

‘Yes! What if the poet was wrong. What if we are all taking the same road but with only different perception of the road-,’ you frown slightly and I know you are struggling to put your thoughts into words. ‘What if the same road looks different to each one, an illusion, hence it feels like we are taking different paths.’

‘What if it is?’ It doesn’t matter, is what I really want to say.

‘Then we need not fear. Because…because…there are many walking along with us. We just can’t see them in the dimension our minds function.’

We are not alone. That is what you meant even then. All your thoughts spoke about it. And all of it was spoken only to me. Yet, I don’t understand.

Behind all your profound words, I knew there was a streak of something different. Insanity, perhaps. I witnessed it when you told me to take a leap of faith and jump off the edge of the world.

‘When we fall, the intensity of our dreams will keep us alive,’ you said with such confidence I believed you. The jump off the building was easy; the drop was a mix of emotions.

Something tells me no philosophy will keep me alive today.

The wind whips my clothes and the air presses against my body. My eyes remain trained on the ground below me, it waiting to embrace me. Immediately the people below me form a web of hands, readying themselves to meet me. The web strains as I hit it but it holds and I live. The people start to laugh and clap me on my back. A whoosh of air leaves my lungs and I almost faint with relief. This is no serendipity. You knew they were going to catch me.

‘Good job,’ a girl says, winking at me. They set me down and prepare to meet the next daredevil. I stagger to the side and watch.

You look like an angel falling; your hands stretched out wide and looking carefree. I imagine I can see your expression from this distance. Your eyes are closed and in meditation.

I realize then. What you have tried to convey all those times.

We truly are not alone.

Even when one goes to war, followed by no army or men, there is always something against to fight. When we fall, someone is there either to catch us or to rise above us. We survive this world with all its complexities because like a mosaic there are many pieces- each different but fitted together.

Safe, you make your way to me. You take me into your arms and I can feel your heart beating in thrill and adventure.

‘I think you are right. There really is no other road. Just one in different shades and we walk together.’

We are all unique, but not alone.