The Paper Bums: Memories of You

*There Used to be A Drawing About Love on this Page *

 

I have to write. I have to remember. I can't lose myself, or you, or anything else.

This is the next line Lilly read, on the paper page. Its how she have always felt, on those dark nights, when sleep escaped her. She always had trouble sleeping. But these words, made the restless night, feel like a warm blanket. She didn't know it yet, but the pages, the words, were remixing her mind.

 

Nikki, my kindred spirit. From the moment I met you, your being had the most extraordinary influence over me. I was dominated by love, mind and consciousness.

It is an absolute human certainty that no one can know their own beauty or perceive a sense of their own worth until it has been reflected back to them in the mirror of another loving, caring human being. Nikki, was my crazy diamond, mirror of mirrors. 

I didn't know who I was until I meet you. Even though at some level, I always realized it, but it wasn't until that timeless moment, our two consciousness, danced unto infinity, under the starry night, to the songs of eternity, to the beat of the universe. Explorers of Infinity, unknowingly striving towards perfection.

 

 

The main thing in the universe, is nameless.  The Infinite that can be named is not the eternal nameless, the seamless everything. So I’ll call it beauty—the King and Lord of the cosmos, a perfect being who sits on a throne made of vanishing ink. 

Beauty is so perfect that it doesn’t depend on anything happening in this world that we see with our eyes and minds. I saw beauty face to face, when we first meet—and said “oh, my god, of course, so that’s what it’s all about, no wonder I was born and had all those secret weird feelings!”

Beauty is beauty, that’s all there is to it. If you are interested in you, then you’re stuck with you and you’re stuck with your death. But if you get interested in beauty, then you’ve latched on to something mysterious inside your soul that grows like a secret insane thought, and takes over completely when you die, and you’re IT.

Beauty is always a great destory, when it leaves, there is cold emptiness, a slience and dullness. In fact beauty is what kills us, beauty is the great murderer!

 

I always want to remember that night. That night of you and I. I will never forget, in fact this why I write, and will forever write. Not for anyone, but you. When my finger hit the keys, and the ink hits the page, The images, sounds, smells, taste, warmth, all coming streaming throuh my  cerebral cortex.

Since I took out my implant, its the only time I feel anything.

I still have the hand written letter, you sent me. I know I shouldn't keep such things, but I can't let go of your hand written note. It restores me and it kills me. It will be the death of me.

Dear SD,

 

And there it was. Who is SD. What is SD? I need to find this person. I need to know all of this is real? Or is this all a Dream?