A Lost Longing

What will be true will remain hidden.

He enamors nothing more than the satisfaction which rises from accomplishing mundane tasks throughout his day. Nothing was truly unfixable. Today, a broken shelf has caught his attention. Tomorrow, it will be a loose chair leg which captivates him. His days are filled with redundancy in the most charming fashion. Certainly, this fashion flowed through his character all the same. Refusing to look deep into the minds of others, casting a nature free of care, and exposing himself to a life unfiltered perhaps is what causes many to be drawn to him. In addition, on any typical day, a lack of merchants along his quaint, London street would have called for panic. The individuality provided by each shop brought onto him a consistent, immense wave of joy. This was not limited to the sellers on this particular street. Whether it be the winding outline of an unusually shaped building forgotten by most, or the harmonious sounds of conflicting instruments played by those who could care less of what state the world is in, it was the creations of the mind that stimulated him. Yet, even in the respite of repetition, something lingers beyond his attention.

A figure bolstered into his unwavering brain seemingly untouched, yet long familiar. Taken the shape of the curves within his skull admitting its consumption. To him, its existence is regular and irregular all at once. However, this contradiction brings peace rather than worry. All is to say, the peace resides in his knowing that this figure is always there. Always with him. To clarify, the most resounding feeling is, in its entirety, melancholy. For this figure is never really his to keep. At this moment in time, this figure is not for him. It belongs to another. Yet, he has never thought of himself as a thief. He did not steal this figure out of malicious intent. It simply burrowed itself within him over time. What is most peculiar about this figure is the ignorance towards its own existence. It is all simply speculation, however. The figure may have some idea of its being, but its intentions are supposedly forever concealed. He, too, shares this dilemma. It is also shared, between him and the figure, a care. However, at what level, we can never really know. What is known is blind torture. He is entrapped, with or without his knowing, in what could have been.

The admiration he has for the figure is unmatched by any other. He is engulfed in its creations both physically and emotionally. It is most common for him to find himself relating occurrences within his mundane routine to the figure itself. Something as simple as the mere mention of a creation similar to what the figure produces or possesses. A cloud, for example, is not of the world. It is significant to the figure, and therefore, significant to him. The cloud cannot belong to any other as it has been made to be the figure’s forever. If it is claimed as another’s, he will fight. Fight in its honor. Fighting to defend his engraving for this is what he is truly loyal to. And when he is most loyal, he finds himself fighting Her.

She has been present for a time shorter than that of his engraving which had been introduced long ago, still ever-growing. He had come to realize that other figures, although not burrowed, exist, and although he cannot grasp what exists only in his mind, he can still obtain what is presented in reality and he does so passionately. During the initial stages with Her, he was unable to hide his passion. To Her, at this time, there was no significance to his engraving. He had shown, through actions, his passion, real and timely. However, as they went on, She became painfully aware of his engraving. It would make itself known when She mentioned related occurrences. Or, even worse, claimed something related as her own. These are the moments, as previously stated, where his loyalty displayed. Nothing short of passionate, of course. Yet, the passion is for the figure. He fought with Her for the figure and made it clear that if any wrong intent was shown towards it, there would be serious consequences. The figure would also be present when She exhibited Her own accomplishments to him. In fact, he would talk so highly of the figure in these moments.

In the moments where the figure appears in physical form, She notices the quiet softness in his eyes paired with a smile equally tender, the touches they share, his body becoming ever so gentle, his efforts to impress with knowledge at times most random, and his praises for the figure and its creations, even a creation of life. It had become tough for Her to ignore the figure when it was and was not present. This made Her question, further, where his passion truly lies. It is not that there was no passion left for Her. She was indeed cognisant that passion and loyalty still exists for Her, but is it right for this to be equally shared, or given more, to another? In all this roughness, as nothing is truly brought to light, it was Her who is blamed, so She decided, then, to remain in the moments where his loyalty and admiration are given to Her, in whole, in reality.

Within the space they share, where does this engraving lie? Does the engraving, burrowed so gently into his brain reserve the right to all? It is his contradiction for now. Perhaps, though he finds solace in the regular, it is the irregular that entices him particularly in admiration and loyalty. Perhaps what he finds to be fixable in the material world can never be translated into what he desires most. Perhaps, one day, he will have his figure, in mind and soul, the way he has imagined. It is all speculation, however. What is known is, his figure will continue to bury itself without reservation. He will continue to fight for, but never against, an engraving forever kept peacefully in aching.

And all the while, She will stand there. Watching what was once found become lost yet again.