Let the guitar string ring. Let it ring in harmony with the one above it and the one below it. A cheerful sound fills the air, three strings in unison, playing different parts to the same full, textured sound. Somehow the sound waves waft through the air, mingling with the hiss of the sea and the cries of the seagulls and the salt in the air and the smooth look of the pebbles. Wrap yourself a bit warmer and feel the mild breeze bringing you the water and the air from a thousand miles away. Let the guitar string ring.
Let it ring while the clouds burst open, while the rays of light become visible against the gray sky, making the ocean gleam. Let it ring while the light fades, while the world becomes darker, while the lighthouse in the distance once again becomes a beacon for lost seamen and hikers alike. Let it ring until the guitar goes out of tune. The clammy cold makes the vibrating wood shift and ache; the strings moan, unwind and lose their serene harmony. One string, so lonely before, has lost touch with the other strings, it swings in atonal dissonance, it is no longer part of the unison. The string below it becomes higher and higher, as if it were bouncing off the metal wire above it, to which it was once such a perfect fit. The lower string is not bothered by this. It winds up and up and does not look back.
The lonely guitar string is lost, it falls, it fails, it does not resound in harmony. It rings meekly, having lost everything that made its sound complete. Someday, it will have to become strong, mature to a beautiful sound all by itself. It can’t be any other string.
It needs to find its frequency again.
I need to find my frequency again.
And so I sit by the sea, tuning my guitar, and I think of the future.
What am I in this world? I am nobody, I am meaningless, nothing but a tiny speck of dust. I look around and see all the people who have achieved, who reached for the stars and went there, all the people that matter. And I, I am standing at the feet of giants, gazing up in awe. I am one of many, a bastard child of society, filled with false vanity to protect myself from realizing my insignificance.
I, however, have tasted the Forbidden Fruit. A precious few are special. The rest are all damned to a wretched life of anonymity, of complete worthlessness, having nobody but themselves to value them.
They live only because of their self-deception. They are liars to themselves, they are bastards of the world they live in, they are damned, they are nobody, they are worthless.
I, too, am one of them, but I have seen the truth, I know the lies, of which the greatest of all is life. I therefore will no longer follow the path of false prophets.
I will find my end.
I am waiting for the train to come, but it will take a while. I see other trains passing by, half empty and illuminated on the inside by neon lights flooding the scene with loneliness, as if to recreate an Edward Hopper painting. The street lamps shoot piercing arrows of light, radiating a cold, knowing aura, exposing the people shuffling past anxiously. The lamps seem to shine through the passers by, seem to put their inner loneliness on display for all to see.
My train arrives, I step inside, sit down and wait. I look around, mustering people. Men are singing at the other end of the train, enjoying a night of drunken escapism.
The train stops at my station and I get out. I walk along a dark path, alongside a little stream hidden by trees on either side. Through them I see the faint stars providing me with the little light I have, making me feel small. I start to think.
I am euphoric at the darkness and intimacy and silence of the path, but this euphoria soon fades as I reach the road. The moon hangs above the end of the road, as if it were beckoning to me to change direction, to embark on a new path, to run. I resist the temptation. I regret resisting.
In my back yard, the moonlight illuminates my dying roses. I smile, thinking back to a few months ago, where I’d sworn to myself not to be let down again. I was going to discipline myself, to make a new start.
I lost a chance and I ruined things even more, it was all my fault, I tell myself bitterly.
I enter the house.
