Incomplete Alzheimer’s
Written by: Amila Nuron
Hello young man,
I’ve never seen you before, but I like that you act like you know me. You remind me of
my son. He’s about 10 years old, have you seen him by any chance? Oh, I’d love for you
to meet him. He’s so precious to me. He tends to be afraid of meeting new people, so
don’t you go on thinking he dislikes you or what not. He’s a bit shy that’s all. I remember when he was younger he used to be too afraid of leaving my side. Being alone isn’t
a feeling suitable for a child, I’m sure you’d agree with me young man. As you grow,
you learn how to be alone at times. You may even grow to love the feeling, though
I must admit I don’t like being alone. So I understood what my baby feels when he
thinks he’s alone.
“How did you teach him to leave your side?”
The moon; I told him to look at the moon and imagine a rope dangling down for him
to grab. I told him the moon would never leave him at night. I told him the moon
would always follow him so he’s never alone. I told him that whenever he goes out on
his own I’ll look at the moon and feed it my spirit. So whenever he looks at it, he’ll be
looking at me.
Talking about him is making me worry for him, what if he’s alone now? Could you
please open up that window over there?
The moon looks extra big and golden tonight; I hope he doesn’t worry about me. I
wouldn’t want that to happen. I hope he doesn’t lose his smile when he’s alone, he has
the cutest dimples. Such a precious child. I miss him already. Are you sure you haven’t
seen him anywhere around this house? And who’s house is this? Where am I?
And who are you?
And why do you have my son’s dimples?
And why are you crying?
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The
Illusionist
The illusionist. I am the illusionist.
I smile my broadest, I laugh the loudest, and my eyes twinkle with the brightest of stars
and a bit of a golden dust.
who is to say I’m not lost at sea, or wandering in the vast existence of thee.
Who is to say I’m not the saddest of souls, or the happiest of all.
Who is to say I’m not the brightest of minds, or the dullest to exist.
Who is to say I am who I say I am and how I carry myself around.
I wake up in the morning
Full of sadness, full of pain, full of all that glooms.
I then usually master an artful line of black to curve up my eyes and make them sparkle
with hope.
I apply a shade of life on my lips, and another on my cheeks.
I then draw an artful curve on my lips and show thee that I am the happiest and loudest
of souls.
But, do you really know how I feel?
I am an illusionist, and illusionists so are you.
But this isn’t a sad story or a wavered heart. This is of the strength we carry around. This
is what we so often forget to label as strength and let our hearts sink, telling us we’re
weak, we’re broken, and that we’re lost at sea.
Little do we let across our minds that life is a journey and it will only end when we draw
our last breath.
Little do we know that on a journey, we stumble and we fall, and we stumble and we fall,
and we stumble and we fall.
But, that only meant we were able to stand tall that we were ever to yet take another fall.
And with every fall, our minds, our hearts, and our souls scar a little, and sometimes not
so little, but it’s okay, because as long as you’re alive and well, that all three bloom, become, and grow.
I am the greatest illusionist, and so are you.
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