Work In Perpetuity (WIP)

There was me before,

and there was me after.

Like Pygmalion used his axe to carve out his dream woman, I have spent a lot of time on carving myself into perfection.

And oh I prayed to the gods too, that one day “I” would become reality.

But the more I lose myself into my work, the better I understand that reality is not a craft, nor a myth.

It is the truth.

It is the impurity revealed to you, the one you can’t chisel off now because you have let it become part of the design. Though the feeling lingers that you should.

It is the sharp edge left by the piece that broke off, with its void providing the evidence of what once was, is now lost forever.

It is the trembling in your fingers when you take a step back and realize the chiseling and refining have shaped you irreversibly,

and how the truth could only ever be served whole.

I was exposed to a new perspective.

So I picked up my old chisel and my new dream,

And got back to work.

Chim đậu chẳng bắt, bắt chim bay

You see two birds in an oaktree, and you want to catch one. As you slowly approach them, the one you wanted escapes.

Now would you spend your time chasing the one that is flying?

Or will you catch the one still sat on the branch?

I pondered through my garden until I found myself attached to its absence. The lack of its presence had provided me a plot to sow a dream.

One that would be rooted in the soils of departure.

When the leaves started to wither, I noticed how I was willingly spending my energy on cultivating an unrestricted fantasy.

My gaze would outline the shadow of its past and future.

Its footprints left marks on the now naked branch in the tree where it used to perch.

A silhouette engrained in my mind that I could idolize to perfection.

Shielded from the forces of reality.

I would patiently wait for its return.

Its arrival would confirm that its fabricated existence was more truthful than the reality I was living in.

Its memory would provide me the plasticity needed to help me bear the weight of the undeniable facts which had forced me to twist in a way,

that would allow me to still keep growing with a sense of what it would be like.

The ecstatic relieve that I know would be the only way to soothe my mind.

Even though there was no evidence supporting my claims to its existence,

It branched out like ivy taking over every bit of myself.

Who gave me the seed?

A glimpse had proven to be just enough for the emergence of a new world.

One morning in spring, I saw two birds on a branch.

I escaped.