Recoiling From Scorpio’s Sting

A cast by the timekeeper.

As I walked down the street,
a man with a moustache
handed me a paper.
I did not look at it.
The scars on his face
were what caught my attention at first.

Our gazes held each other
for three seconds,
each millisecond stretching
into countless hours,
as if the sand dripping
from the hourglass
had been cast under a spell
by the timekeeper,
not to stop time,
but to slow it down.

Pausing to look back,
I saw the cost of building a life
full of motion,
how it had been tearing through
everything I spent my life around,
while everything else disappeared,
until the man
was no longer standing
on the same ground.

I blinked my eyes twice,
thinking it was a dream,
that I would wake up in my bed
with the fresh scent of roses
wrapped inside my pink sheets,
softly touching my skin.

Instead, my gaze was held
by the paper handed to me
by the scar-faced man.
It was blank on both sides.

When the noise dissolved,
when I stopped choosing illusions
over presence,
when I stopped searching for home
in countless horizons,
admitting to myself that I had grown tired
from always running,
from always being on the road,
possibilities I once fell in love with
were no longer blocking my view.

I was no longer seeking pleasure.
I felt belonging.
I felt full
without performing at all.

Everything turned to black,
and I was surrounded by walls on their sides.
There was a glimpse of night appearing
around the corner.
I followed.

When time lingered,
unwilling to enter what came next.
When the minute hand pulled back,
not crossing,
but recoiling from Scorpio’s sting.

I was in a room full of strangers,
without really being present,
while the ground started pulsing
with a vibration coming from a distance.

It was the lullaby that hushed the little one.
She used to smile all the time,
dropping countless dreams into every corner.
Every shade reminded her of hazards,
of possibilities yet to come.

While seasons passed
and life moved on,
I looked into the mirror again,
expecting to meet her gaze,
carrying a spark brighter than any star
resting in the sky.

What returned to me
were eyes with purple bags,
reminding me that the biggest mistake of my life
was looking for love in places that could not hold it,
letting fear stop me
before I ever tried.

It was giving up on play
that cost me my little child.

Since then, my shore has remained dry,
like a desert on a summer night,
leaving me tired at last
from the frost of drought.

Yesterday, I saw a kite
drifting far away.
When I looked down,
I saw the little one
with trembling hands,
with tears in her eyes,
not flinching while holding her breath,
standing in silence for minutes,
until someone looked at her and said,
“Look what you’ve done.”

Then a strong breeze rushed through my skin.
Time started folding itself.
Colours shifted.
Everything was gone,
yet I stood still.

A man was waving at me
amongst the whist of fog,
yet a woman stood behind me
and yelled,
“Run away!”

With every inch of strength I had,
I threw myself forward,
yet my legs were only carrying me backwards,
until I found myself next to that man
who had no face.

He didn’t have to.
My memories were stained
by his dangerous smile,
as I was crushed under the burden
of linking every problem back to myself.

When I opened my eyes,
silence didn’t shift.
It grew louder.
I put on my headphones
and started walking away.

I stopped chasing the sunlight
and folded myself inward.

I met myself in every corner,
every shade,
and unmasked my shadows,
the parts of myself I had cast aside.

The enemy that met me in every mirror
started to become my ally.
The reflection that met me in every mirror
was no longer the same.

I waited,
not with endurance,
but with joy,
knowing the stars would keep
that little girl’s
sacred memory alive.

Because this time,
I stayed.
And I kept dreaming for that little girl,¹
the one who once outshined
the eternal brightness of the stars.

She used to love the colour blue,
carrying the sky’s hue,
stretching across the horizon,
where each cloud kept changing shape
with every second of passing time,
reminding me that the only permanent thing in life
is change.

---

Author’s note:

To mark 1K of you being here, I wanted to say thank you in a tangible way.
I’ve added a 40% off coupon for paid subscriptions, in honour of this little milestone we reached together.

I keep most of my work here free, because I believe stories should be easy to stumble into. If my work has ever kept you company, this is a soft invitation.

1. Thank you Alix@IN2LProds for being you and inspiring me in doing so.