And yet he can't have it...

He stumbled upon what he thought he would never find. Just by sheer chance, and voila, it was there. Slowly but surely, he realized that this was it. He had had it a while back, but it faded away. He didn’t like the experience. So, he thought, to hell with it. I’ve had it, I didn’t like it, and I don’t think I want to have it again. And he lived life mechanically in this way, keeping it at bay, his life having no meaning, no fulfillment, and nothing to fill the yawning void he felt but tried to ignore.

But this was it. He tried to fight it, to ignore it, but couldn’t. He became sucked in it, consumed by it. He thought about it all the time. He was charmed, it brought wonder to his soul, and trepidation at the same time. Happiness he had never known before, yet anxiety lurked. The delight came with fear and apprehension; the enchantment came with hesitation. He was confused and nervous, but blissful in its presence. He had a taste of it, and now couldn’t step back. He tried, but simply couldn’t. He saw the implausibility of it, yet couldn’t do anything about it. He had vague ideas about making the ultimate leap when the time came: he could do anything to make it work. This, I got to have it.

And yet he can’t. It sends him left, right, back and forth, it has a certain power over him, yet he can’t have it. It dawns on him: it can be a cruel world, in the most subtle and intangible of ways. There are not that many like it in the world; it’s what he has always longed for in the secrecy of his thoughts and dreams and fantasies. It’s right here within his reach, yet not quite. He can see it; he can feel it, can hear it, can even touch it and smell it.

But he can’t have it.

He knows the end is near. He sees it. A decision has to be made. He shies away from it, not having the courage to make it. He can’t let go, wouldn’t let go, because it’s difficult: it’s what he has always wanted! Yet he knows he has to move on, because the other one most definitely is moving on in capitulating recognition, tugging the “it” along with ironic resolve. He wonders at this ability that is elusive to him. How can it be so?

Because the other one knows it can’t work. He sees the point, but has a problem with it. Why can’t they just make certain sacrifices and have it? Why can’t he just make the leap and have it? He shakes his head now in fervent consternation. It is the same God that we turn to for God’s sake! In his own way and in the other one’s own way, it is to the same God! He can’t fathom these artificial distinctions we have against our names. He marvels at the categorizations and classifications and identifications of society. He is in this; the other is in that; so it can’t work. Just like that – a dead finality delivered subtly and cruelly; an inevitable expectation, like of the sun rising tomorrow from the East and not from the West. Any other way is an undesirable disruption of the natural order.

He will move on. The scar will heal. Perhaps he will even encounter another acceptable “it”, one that will conform. He will suppress himself, he will live as expected. He will train his eyes not to tell of a life denied; his voice will learn to feign a cheer where there is none; his heart will mellow at an “it” not quite like this.

In time’s fullness, he will remember it. He will look at his offspring, and those of his offspring, and wonder how it could have been. He will know, even if it were to return, he still he can’t have it.

Or can he?

Picture credit: http://understandmennow.com/