Castles

by Nasimeh B

 
When we first started building our houses, they were of mud, or straw, or clay, and not very well put together. We’d finish a room, so impassioned and proud, only to see bits and pieces poking out of the seams and notice our furniture was falling apart. It wasn’t our best time, but then again, we were trying, and of course there’s beauty in that.

Eventually we learned the better ways to construct, and so we used plaster and nicer wood and steel, and we put together these blended concoctions of hopes, wants, wishes, fears. They teetered on the edges of our dreams and haunted our waking hours, but they held together well enough. What was best was our pathways between, where we’d rest and converse in the wee hours that connected the heavy days together.

The first person to build a castle was regarded as a bit of a loon, but its turrets and winding stairways were just so appealing that we all begrudgingly began lifting ourselves up into the heavens. Stone by stone, we left our mud-and-straw creations behind in favor of the higher ups, overlooking the bluffs where we once lived. We carved stairways into hillsides and ideas into stories and turned our small hamlet into a rustling, bustling burg.

But castles don’t last forever, not even the best ones, and it was in some time that the first stone came crashing down into the ruins of the past. We paid it little heed, trying our best to keep sipping our cocktails and ignore the inevitable destruction of all we had ever known, but, well, that was pretty hard to do. Soon enough, stone by stone, the walls came crumbling down, and we had to face the truth of the fact that our fortresses, our citadels, our towers, no matter how damn strong, just couldn’t hold up in the face of their most distinct oppressor: time.

Fate drew its mighty hand and life drew its cards and we wept in fervor as the tumbles and crumbles of every notion we’d consistently considered turned from truth to absolute nothingness. What could we do but weep? What could we do but sit inside our hollow shells and witness the darkness become light?

Yeah, even the worst passes, I know. Crumbles became critters became crawling, and towards the future we resolutely worked, stone by stone, mud by straw, and inch by glorious inch. We drew breath in ragged lungs and screamed into empty skies and like always, akin, the cycle began again.

 
Nasimeh B is a performer, writer, artist and yogi living in the Bay Area. She is very fond of sweet potatoes, and can be creepily stalked at NasimehB.tumblr.com
 

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