Aeal

Forget-draft

A leaf is falling in the wind, past the rainbow bridges of long ago, falling in the sun, in the mist, falling, falling. Mnemosyne guards her secrets well in her citadel of falling stars, fallen, felled, unreachable by thought, only accessible to thought, except for those fleeting moments when the heart remembers.
Perhaps a pain, a taste, a resounding joy that echoes now hollowly while details spin away, but it is enough. Lethe blocks the path to Mnemosyne, that so seldom parts its waters, that a glimpse is enough, not to

sate. Emptiness is insatiable, and the yearning

will be always there, for the sands of time will never turn back, except for the dying, the bloodstained, and the lost, for

whom it no longer matters. Not to heal, not to wound, not to comfort, not to hope. It can only remind, of what was lost; could have been, might have been, almost been,

but for one thing, and never will be, is not.

hunger answers hunger, and thirst answers thirst, so to drink of Lethe will not part a path, only add to the dark hole, until it swallows even itself in its searching. On days when leaves fall to disappear into rainbow mist, the wind can be heard to whisper things that can no longer be remembered.


Do the words one utters before death tend to be truer, or can they be a lie?
--Subaru, X/1999