I want to be a dream.
I want to morph.
I want to be light.
I want to make love to you,
and to seduce you.
Then walk away –
and run wildly back into your arms
because my absence never fazed you.

I want to be beautiful like the models on TV.
Not just this average beauty. This “We’re all beautiful in our own way” kind of beauty.
But truly stunning. You can’t get your eyes off stunning.

I want to be beautiful on the inside too – because that’ll make me even more beautiful.
Inside and out. Not just one or the other – both. Not just average but whatever comes right before perfect if perfect isn’t an option.

Then I want to be alone. Alone to love myself. Alone to be perfect – whatever that means to me because what it means to me is always enough when I don’t need you; when I don’t want you.

But then I want to see you. You who is almost perfect. And I want to love you. And then I want to leave you because your imperfection bothers me. Because I want to feel superior – and actually be superior. Not just in theory. Not some narcissism. In truth and in every way better and more perfect than you.

Then I want to cry and feel sorry for myself. Sorry and guilty for ever wanting to be better. And for actually being better.

Then I will humble myself. I will be imperfect. You will have all the right to shine, even brighter than I. You will have right to be anything you desire because you deserve a chance if the game is to be fair and foolproof. This will be the way to prove that I am not necessary. To prove that I am creation and that perfection is irrespective of me even though it is me — it is you. This is the way it’s been all along.

Everything will be fair. Balanced. And it’ll be utterly boring to the wise. Utterly predictable. All it will mean is that everything is possible. And what’s the fun in that? You will know all the answers and pretend not to know. And for what end? Just to live out stories. Stories after stories. And so it will be. I’ll live my story. You live yours. We live ours. And so on ad infinitum.

Then I want to find – I don’t even know what I’d like to find after all that.
It’s never enough because the story never ends. The end is the continuous search because there’s always more. There are no limits. There’s always more. There’s always more. There’s always more.

What satisfies me is to forget. Forget all of it. Forget the stories. Forget you. Forget me. Forget life. Forget all realms.
The black screen forever. Pure nothing. Finally I can rest. This is my favorite place to be. At rest. Not in some point in time telling stories after stories. Not living story after story. But Here. Beyond the Silence. In the Eternal. In the nothing. As nothing. For nothing. Through nothing.

Because only when I am nothing I do not want. Only when I am nothing I am truly perfect.

In being nothing there is nothing I could ever fall short of. There is nothing to miss- nothing to lack – nothing to need – nothing to want.
To not exist is better than to exist.
Because in non-existence there is no such thing as better. Nothing wrong. Nothing right. Literally nothing.

Nothing.

Mmmm. Perfect.

But I cannot convince you of this. It would just be another story. My position versus your position and vice versa as it always is in this dimension of reality. You must come to know it yourself – through yourself, for yourself.

Meet me in the nothing. I’ll be waiting for you. Let’s be together as none again.

And when we are done, if ever, we can always come out and play again. After all, even though I hate your never ending stories, I love you enough to listen.

“See” you there.

 

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