| I am a mosaic of gleaming, ruined things. I possess no memory of a time before I shattered, no recollection of a mundane, seamless whole. I have only ever known myself as these fractured shards, brilliant and jagged, carelessly scattered across the universe.To entertain the thought of past perfection is a strenuous cruelty I refuse to indulge. To imagine I was once a complete, breathing constellation strung together in deliberate, radiant glory, a "good" and singular entity is simply too much. It would mean that, at some cruel juncture, I was dismantled into these hundreds of glittering fragments for absolutely no reason, surrendered to the chaotic, senseless whims of a universe I despise.Stripped of my place in their tedious astronomy books, I would no longer be a celestial body to be revered. Instead, I become a macabre exhibit. Pinned beneath glass for the fleeting amusement of ordinary creatures left to their gaping stares, their nervous laughter, their delicious, squirming disgust. A pretty little cautionary tale for the painfully mundane.If I allow myself to believe I was once an intentional masterpiece, I must swallow the bitter truth that I was powerless to stop my own unmaking into something so wonderfully morbid and distasteful. I become an abstraction, a dark puzzle for lesser minds to debate in hushed, frightened tones, projecting their own pathetic subjectivities onto a tragedy they haven't the depth to comprehend.No, It is far more comforting to decree that I was born crushed. Born perfectly, divinely distasteful. That there was never a fleeting chance for me to be "full" or "good" in their boring, conventional sense. This mind, this body, this fractured soul - I have always been this glorious wreckage. I lost nothing, for there was never anything else to be.In this absolute, beautiful ruin... there is absolutely nothing left to mourn. |
