What is the Vortex Veritarum?

I am truly weary at the moment, exhausted from weaving layers over layers of those bittersweet (and ultimately hopeless) metaphors. Years of work gone to waste, building this huge mechanism, naming things, learning what they do, years of meticulous writing. To what end? Futile labor it was! Pointless, I realize, as the lifetime worth of indecipherable literature stretching behind me. My own symbols mock me, they are not understood. Thus, neither am I. The clockwork precision of their making is wasted, and it’s now the time to play that old wishing game again. I wish, I wish that I’d learn to regain the joy of being alone, that the silence doesn’t bite so hard at my heart. And I would wish that I never feel the urge to write again.

... if only wishing was enough. If only.



Interlude

[1] You look troubled, brother. Speak your mind.
[2] I was thinking that the truth is like a rainbow in many ways.
[1] Colorful?
[2] Well, no. Not colorful.
[1] Really…
[2] You can never get close enough to touch it, and if you try – it will elude you every time.
[1] Might you not consider observing it from afar, only?
[2] No.
[1] Well, ask your shadow then.
[2] Why would it help me?
[1] The shadows, brother. They always lean towards a rainbow. Had you not noticed?
[2] I hadn’t.
[1] So, there.
[2] Thank you, I think.
[1] You are welcome. Oh, and brother?
[2] Aye?
[1] You are like that too.


[2] Like what?
[1] Elusive. It will kill you someday.


Why do people write? Do they want to be understood? Do they crave so dreadfully the attention? In writing, are they not implying that we do not comprehend them? That we cannot see into their souls? Is it not a sob of pain, a silent wave of the bruised hand? All the vain, wasted cries. All the bottles that sank into the ocean.