Sigur Rós
"Saeglópur"
“Eram quod es, eris quod sum.”
“I was what you are, you will be what I am.”
_____________________
You’ve called me selfish,
you’ve called me cold,
you’ve called me arrogant, ignorant,
you’ve called me childish, naive,
you’ve called me all these things, and more.
“You’re heartless.”
You said the words that cleaved through the quiet fibers of my resolve. Your cruelty - your serrated slander - darted through your lips without even a pinprick of crimson regret…how could you?
Can you not see? After years upon years upon stimuli-drenched years of intimately sharing my company, can you still not see? Have I really been reduced, in your eyes, to nothing more than a stubborn child, viewed as little more than a heap of secularly indoctrinated flesh?
I don’t even live in your world anymore. No, I see the world through a different lens. I really wish you could see too. Please, try?
Don’t make fun of me, and just try?
..
You said you “felt nostalgic,” so many years ago. You spun tales of your childhood, your past, your golden years. And I saw it all.
I revisited your past. As your heart’s narrative fed my mind’s eye, I was violently thrown into the sleepy landscapes of your memory. An angel told me to play the part of the Observer, so I did. I saw the Younger You, and delighted in your story; I ravished in your contented retrospect.
I saw with new, sensitive eyes. The world of your memory was bright. Do you remember? Peaceful. Oh! And colorful. So brilliantly, dazzlingly colorful.
You see,
Red married Light, and graduated to the sensuous shade of Ruby. Green took to the shadows, and learned to embody the boldness of Emerald. Blue merrily erupted into a double helix of azure and sapphire. And in an instant, an infinite kaleidoscopic progeny surged into existence.
My vision faded while I was there…there in your memory. The world became blurry, softened. Crisp details and all measures of exactness lost their appeal, and I became obsessed with the glossy inaccuracies that composed you, me, all of us. I fell in love.
I found myself perpetually squinting, and soon became an obedient handicap. A humbled soul who had come to internalize the truth that…there was simply too much. How could I understand you? Even with you as my guide, even with your gentle hand as my personal, obliging escort, I couldn’t even hope to navigate the complexities that composed the melody of…You.
There wasn’t enough time. But I sought to understand.
Your stories ended all too soon. I awoke. I shook my head, angry at the death - or, perhaps, murder - of those homely hues that had so effortlessly granted me shelter. I tore at my retinas, angry at the resurgence of clarity.
But that second sight remained. It stayed with me, though your story had long since ended. It lingered into the silence. Into the night. Into the day. And suddenly, I began to live my own silent narrative. Suddenly, I had all the time in the world. So I began to work. I sought to understand. All of it. All of everything.
I saw - and still see - the colors waiting to be born. I whisper with the vast reservoirs of latent light that seek to dance upon the wick of every candle, flickering in fervent protest to the darkness. I really wish you could see. I would beg, if it would help.
But, no. You’re too busy, because…there you stand, calling me
Selfish, because I have not played my part in satiating your lust for convenience, and instead prioritized my most avid ambitions,
Cold, because I have not appreciated your computer-generated acts of politeness, and instead chose to explore and shape my own intimate understanding of genuine kindness and proper etiquette,
Naive, because I refused to be content with and become acclimated to the world’s shadowy workings,
Heartless, because you know nothing of my heart.
Open your eyes, please. See.
I was what you are, and my love, if you should so choose it,
you will be what I am,
you will exceed what I am,
and you will see, through the same happily burdened eyes,
what I see.
