Lanyth: Moments

 There are moments when I wonder why I am even here.

A fight, a battle well past over, and I stand on a field of battle long devoid of life or anyone who cares. The sun has fled the heavens and not so much as a single cloud remains to muffle the sound. Nothing but silence lies before me like an ocean of blood, and in its midst stand tall of not corpses, but memories lost to time.

I see them now — some are friends, others foes. Some have been loved by many, while others die alone each day with only their thoughts for company. But they all share one thing that sets them apart from those around them; something that cannot be mistaken for anything else, no matter how hard you may try. They stand tall and proud, yet they bear the scars of what was done to them on this very ground.

They are dead.

In this world perhaps, but live on in countless others. A life removed from this reality to continue in another place and another time. And I stand here in a field of memories which hang over me like the shadows of dead trees. It is my task to remember them and keep them safe until such time that we can be together again. A false hope, that we will never see each other again, yet I persist, keeping my memories of them alive like the dying embers of a weakening fire. So that maybe just one day, across many a universe, I may find them once more.

I feel their eyes upon me now, as if they themselves are still alive. For the first time since I arrived here, I look up into the sky and see it blanketed with clouds, and not a single star to be seen. Not a single laugh to be heard. And not a single smile to greet me.

And then I hear them. Their laughter fills the air like thunder, and I shiver at its terrible sound. And their smiles, oh gods, those smiles — so full of life and joy! Yet they are fleeting and far away, and soon I am left standing alone once again.

These same halls where friends once walked, these same walls, ever familiar but now empty and devoid of life.

Only my memories live here now. Memories of friendships and hate, good times and bad, pain and pleasure. Of joy and sorrow, fear and courage. Of triumph and defeat. Of hope and despair. Of life and death.

And of love.

Love.

The word itself is nothing more than a distinct syllable, yet it carries with it so much weight. It carries with it the deepest meaning, the truest heart. Love is something we do not understand yet know all the same. What does it mean? How can it be measured? How can it be defined? Is there any way to comprehend the emotions we call love or to know them without feeling them ourselves? Can we measure the depth of our affection for another? Or the strength of that bond between two souls?

Is it possible to say that we have loved someone when for so long, we had never known that love existed within us? When every moment of our lives was spent in solitude and loneliness, and could not have fathomed that a friendship could exist beyond ourselves?

You would think this impossible, yet it happens more often than not. Every day across this world and many others, people are allowed to form new friendships and share the company of others for the first time in their lives. And why not? Why should our kin be the only ones to experience the wonders of companionship? And why should I, given the chance, deny myself the right to discover what I have never experienced before?

It is because I know these things, and yet find it so difficult to accept them that I find myself here.

Sitting atop a pile of rubble, staring down at the broken pieces of a mirror I once held dear. I stared at the fragments of myself, the cracks running deep through my soul, a distinct face each, but looking so different all at once. My body, my mind, my very being — so many parts, yet so little of a whole.

Each part, in turn, reflects back upon itself, and so the cycle goes. Each reflection is a deeper look into the depths of my own soul. There is no escaping them, and so I sit, forever trapped in my memories, unable to escape them and able to feel every emotion that they bring me.

But not all.

Not all of my feelings.

My life is filled with sadness. A sad woman, a sad life, a sad world.

I see the faces of those I've lost, and they haunt me. They follow me as I walk, sleep, dream, and whisper to me of a future I cannot bear. They tell me of a world with no love for me. Of a life that has gone and will go on without me. Of a world where the people I hold most dear will forget my existence.

And I weep.

For a life such as mine, where there is no love, no friendship, and no hope, and where the only companions I shall have are the ghosts of my dreams and the whispers of the wind, I must be sad.

Yet, in this sadness, I find solace in the company of others. In fact, I find that I have lived my entire life in solitude, and thus, have no idea what genuine company is. In this world, the company one keeps is of paramount importance. To be with others is the key to happiness, and to be alone is to invite unhappiness. This is the reason I have come to this place.

To seek out others, and to learn what true friendship is.

And then, to teach myself to love.