Just a little longer, I think.
Just a little is fine. Just a little more.
I don’t know what it is I want, but I keep on wishing for something.
Just a little longer. Just a little more.
The cherry blossoms bloom and scatter, long rains wash the streets, white clouds billow high, the leaves change color, freezing winds blow. Then the cherry trees bloom again.
The days are accelerating.
Uncalled for, but not unbeknownst, a silent sorrow fights its way into our hearts. A sorrow longing for a missing fragment. An unnerving melancholy, unfolding like a forlorn nostalgia carried over from a past life — a deep knowledge that our soul’s puzzle is incomplete without another piece we must strive to find.
A knowledge embedded deep within the heart — even without experience, we detect the gaping hole, the void in our hearts, in a place which should not be empty. And somehow, we know for sure this void can be filled, without any reason, any scientific fact to prove this emotion.
Without a clear target, there is a wish. An emotion, not of clear shape, potentially invisible, but still clearly there, driving us on. The mind may not realize, but the heart, the soul, holds that wish dear, and subconsciously tries to fulfil this longing. A longing for warmth, an empty vial that waits to be filled, an emptiness that pulls down the heart with a weight so heavy the laws of physics can not explain the gravity of this void.
For a long time, we can live from a surrogate liquid provided by society. Emotions condensed into works of art: verses, novels, pictures, movies and more — fragments of other lives we suck in, which become a part of ourselves, and may water the dry soil even though they are only a substitute for what we are longing for.
We fill the vial to quench our thirst, to irrigate the dry soil and squelch the constant white noise of longing echoing in our souls. Intoxicated by these condensed emotions, we gain more time. Just a little longer, just a little more time to wish, to strive through life, to approach the future we are living for, without losing ourselves into the sorrowful depths of the endless abyss.
Some transform themselves into apathetic beings by surviving too long without a glimpse of the sparkling fragment, denying its existence and the longing altogether, drowning their selves in faithless disbelief to join the clockwork of daily life like the machines society expects them to be.
And not always, the missing fragment is found. Today’s world offers more and more of the nectar which can keep us going, deceiving our hearts and souls in a treacherous manner, trying to convince us that this is all there is.
It is rare that the provided nectar of emotions is so pure that it does not only saturate us, but also shows us the way, and reminds us of our own feelings. Unique artists do not only provide satiation, but provide the flashlights to brighten the path into the dark depths of our souls, joining us on the adventurous path we have to take.
Destiny is a word easy to pronounce, leaving a tingling, ringing sensation in the ear and mind. But it won’t come for free to us. It requires the inner stability, the acceptance of emotionality, and the acknowledgement of the void, the longing, the sorrow in our hearts — and it does not prevent the craving and yearning for the missing piece. We still need to go through with the powerful strife of life to triumph and gain our very own destiny, in the treadmill which is going ever faster and faster.