And yet you stay with him. There's something compelling about that constancy in a lifeworld that grows dim and gathers cold cobwebs. There's something about an immutable being that you want to cling to. Death grasps wildly at life with a jealous, desperate abandon just as life slides to fit death's curves, replete with the knowledge that it draws power from how close and how ultimately inevitable death is.
How death wants to possess life! How much it wants to keep life for itself and yet painfully comprehends how that would bastardize it. Death does not want to obliterate life. It wants to swallow it whole: keep it within and yet retaining its undigested verve and meaning. But once it swallows life, life no longer exists...it becomes a thin phantasm whose existence depends solely on another's interpretive memorandum. Even Hades understands that he can't keep Persephone by his side always. Does he release her because he truly loves her? Or does he release her only after she fades annually, merely for the sake of experiencing what she could be again -- the one he first fell in love with? Does he release her only because he knows she is indentured to return?
Immutable. There's something hopeless and wondrous about the idea of a being that can't be erased. Can't be silenced. Perpetuating independently because it doesn't need you to exist. And so you wrap your limbs around him in an effort to draw warmth and light into your own being.
He doesn't like how you feel, but he allows it because he knows he will remain long after you have changed and vanished. He allows it because he doesn't wish to hurt you. Deep down in your cold center, you know how little he likes to be touched by you. You know that with him, you will end up waning without ever being truly seen. How you wish he wouldn't forget you the way you will forget him. Can you live with that sort of dark allure that will forever house light and beauty?
A note about this writing blurb. I tend to sit down at my laptop to write these out spontaneously. Sometimes there's a sentence or a feeling in my head, or inspiration is prompted by something I've seen earlier. What results is a small blurb that usually doesn't have form or a plan before I type it out. Work at the cafe was a bit slow today, so this blurb is actually my first time in a while trying to write something out on paper. I'm not sure which I'm more comfortable with at this point -- free-typing or free-writing. It's worth exploring in the future, I suppose.