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Glorified Desert

I wanted the sand to roll over me. Let It roll over me like it washes away everything in its way. Heck, It even looked like a wave, but It would never do such a thing. This sand, I told myself, was protecting me in a caring way. It wanted me to survive, but was that It’s main motive? I promise it felt more like a mocking that humiliated my chances of survival, but I could do nothing of it/either way.
I wanted the waves to chase me. Let It chase me miles on end, but in the back of my mind, always knowing – almost hoping – I wouldn’t outrun that race. I wanted It to swallow me, put me out of this aching my body no longer stands. But It most likely just waited for the aching to numb my bones and flesh, so I wouldn’t feel the raw nagging soreness of my body. Because It didn’t want my body. It wanted my desperate, deteriorating psyke, just as it’s emptied with all my regrets and just as the smallest grain of sand in the wrong place would overwhelm me with anger. That’s when It would know I’m all for It to take. Like looking for a fresh fruit. It wouldn’t mind the waiting – the fresh juicy bite would pay for it all. I felt noting like a ripe plum, but I understood that a despondent soul could lure even the purest of tastebuds.
I wanted the rain to soak me. Let it water me from within, but this sand couldn’t be rained upon. I couldn’t demand it, not even ask for it. Not one cloud could make it here. It would become a speck on the sky just by sighting the sand for afar. Not even God could make this ground wet, though it seems like a godlike miracle when it against all odds happens. No-one could guide the rain this way, not because It didin’t need it nor that it should rain. But because it was only one simple reason for those occasions. It wanted it. It wanted it to rain. I don’t know why. I don’t think It knows why either, but It wants it. Maybe It wanted to keep my hope up or maybe to have the big monsoon help the animals such as flamingos to easier mate and flourish. But would It be so thoughtful?
I wanted my legs to betray me. Let them rumble my body down a sand dune. The time had made me so frail – a fall could mark my end. It would be natural death, as natural as it could be in these circumstances. No outer forces intervening. I quietly smiled at the idea that my clumsiness would ruin Its plans of torturing me. In the fall I would furiously laugh at It. Scream my throat to its driest before landing and tearing my brittle build. I didn’t do it.
I wanted It to love me. Let It hug me with all Its warmth. It used to before our bond started to sway. Its color scheme – the red, the orange, the beige, the burnt – where so magnificent when I started my journey but they swallowed me whole before I could turn around and rethink. Beauties like these are – by all folktales, rumours and legends – not to be trusted, but I couldn’t deny the urge. I had to tie our bonds. I’d dreamt of this journey: every step on the street to be mirrored while passing this desert. I knew the warmth would burn my feet but it would all be worth it. All these images I had imagined before – where were they now?
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25 apr 20 - 18:23
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