You told me to wait in the dark.

So I did, and I waited for a long time. Too long I suppose, but that’s all retrospect–whatever that word means–most words have lost their meaning at this point. I hung off all the ones that seeped out of your mouth, like an idiot, but again; retrospect. Clarity only seems to come in retrospect, when a mind has caught up to a view point where its soul may have already traipsed passed, cause that’s what souls do.

That’s what you do.

You never waited for me, like I did for you. You asked me to wait only to get ahead, only so you could sit on top of the perch first, then fly away as soon as you saw me coming. Just in time for me to see the sun reflecting off your wings as you drop below the horizon. This is how you function, perhaps it’s how all of you function. The ones who are supposed to stay, to nurture, to save us. Maybe it’s just your DNA–if you have DNA, do you?

Don’t answer that.

Not that you would, not that you ever do. Not that you ever offer up anything of yourself, you just expect us to give, endlessly, without anything in return. And that’s what I did. I did everything you asked, everything you demanded of me. You always had a way of winding your consonants so they would wrap around the vowels convincing me that they may have come from my own lips. Planting nouns was what you loved most, rarely full sentences, just single words like ‘Paris’ or ‘Mountain’, leaving me to interpret your intention. Driving me into action, to follow your clues with the hopes that one day, if I moved fast enough, I may catch you.

But I’ll never catch you, will I?

That’s how this whole thing was designed, wasn’t it? For us–people like me–to follow your impulses. The impulses you fuel us with like an intangible drug against our will. I suppose some people–most people–ignore them, but you wouldn’t have it that way with your person; with me. No, you like to play these games, to plant these seeds. To keep me running, to keep me screaming and crying and searching to no avail. This is what you do, not because this is your purpose, but because you like it.

If liking anything is in your repertoire.

Maybe it’s not supposed to be, maybe it was just laced through your architecture on accident, by mistake. Or maybe you took it, maybe it was something you snuck a bite out of when you where being shaped and formed–when we were being formed. Because we were formed together, weren’t we? That’s why I am stuck here, forever chasing you, because we were designed to be  together–whatever together means–like I said, words have lost their meaning. I suppose it’s because I have lost my meaning, because I have lost you.

But, have I?

Really? Maybe I haven’t lost you at all. Maybe I am closer than I have ever been. Perhaps it’s just a matter of spreading my wings and flying right past that perch into the horizon after you. And maybe that’s what you wanted this whole time; us, flying in tandem, into the melting sky. Together, flying right past retrospect without looking back.

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An example of flash fiction