“Aaah fuuuuuuuck that!”, he exclaimed to no one in particular as he tried to not imagine the mess that he would have to clean up, that he himself had created. “For the 1000^th fucking time, screw the lid on the freaking bottle before you decide to shake it up”, he reprimanded his already bummed mind, his eyes squinting to his freshly stained t-shirt and the floor with a cocktail of milk, bananas and his flavory powders, “now I gotta change and take a bath again”.

“Comeon, man, it happens”, his mind shouted back at him, ”just chill, change and take a nice little bath and then we’ll relax. It’s been a decent day so far, let’s not spoil it, alright?“ And well, he thought that it made some sense, somehow, and decided to do exactly that. He undressed, flexed his non-existing muscles in the mirror, admired himself for a good minute before disgruntling at his beer belly- which even if wasn’t protruding nagged him to no relief. He sighed as if he had lost his six pack only recently (of course he never had one) and hopped into the shower. He projected himself as a mean manly man but his washroom had the sexiest collection of bath salts, perfumed body washes, three different styles of shampoos, and of course, a face wash for his every mood. He thought that he needed something cold and fresh at that moment and of course it felt good. It was cold, and it was fresh. He was relaxed and contemplated if he should play with himself. He rubbed his little Johnson, as if asking it if it were in the mood. He did it for a couple of seconds and then decided that he might carry on with it later when he was comfortable in his couch, much easier that way. Feeling a strange sense of pride and satisfaction, he jumped out of the shower, put on a fresh set of underwear and clothes, and went about making his shake again. And because this time he didn’t forget the cap, he felt awfully proud of himself and decided to go to the balcony for a change. To feel the fresh air, the night sky, the downtown lights- you know the jazz.

And as soon as he did, the cold breeze did hit his face in every cliched way possible, and he closed his eyes and just listened to the sound. Thankfully he lived a little further away from the highway else the only music to his ears would be the cacophony of sounds from exhaust pipes of superbikes and the zooming away cars. It was not the case, and he could hear the wind speak to him. He went ahead, rested aside a railing and took a sip of his drink. “How the times have changed, eh!”, again, to no one in particular, “from fooling around in this balcony with booze and cigarettes to having a healthy milk-shake! I am so goddamn proud of myself”. “Proud of leaving my youth behind, proud of growing up. But am I, really?”. This is why he always hated the alone peaceful time with nature, it started to put in front of him uncomfortable questions. This used to be his favorite pastime, getting stoned and looking at them stars. He had made friends for life doing that, both- with them constellations and with actual flesh and blood people, he had learnt a ton about himself- what made him content and what actually was important. In fact, the person he was today, he attributed a lot of it to his time spent gazing at the stars. So why was it that he didn’t spend as much time nowadays that he used to?, he asked himself again.

He could already notice the difference in the sky from the time all those years ago, and he had been noticing that for a good time now. The sky as he knew was disappearing and year by year, his favorite stars were disappearing from the view. And well, he smiled. He knew that he couldn’t let the good fight die, little by little he had to reach out to people to educate them about the ill effects of the most inane type of pollution- light. He knew that he needed to make a difference, even one person at a time. For this sky to be again the sky of his childhood lights. Not for himself, but for the generations to come, for his planet.

He took a good long look again, draining the last drops of his shake from the bottle.  “It’s been a long time since I saw you last too”, a voice whispered in his ears. He closed his eyes to the melody of that and just smiled, ear to ear. It had been a long time since the stars had talked back.

Words are still lost, meanings still declined. The realities shift, they change. I am thankful that the dreams are still my own. They sold my soul, they took my name but the mask still hangs on to the face. Over the years, it has changed- a Rorschach of black blobs. It is the only color that has fascinated me since the very start. I have seen kids playing- arguing over the best color which is there but black never figured on their list. Maybe because it isn’t a true color after all, it is their absence. But it reaches where even light falls short.
This color has very conflicting connotations. None of the colors has so many different meanings, and so many opposed ideas. On one hand, black is the color of death, and on the other, it represents individuality. If black represents fear and darkness, it can be mysterious and sophisticated. It is authority and also humility, the sin and the holiness, rebellion and conformity, wealth and poverty, good and bad. But trust me, when I see black, I always see the dark side.
Maybe that is why I always try to hold back my tears. They might smear the mask, if light falls, the colorless drops of water might become a rainbow. The red of love, the blue of pride, the green of peace. If light doesn’t befall, it still is white- the color of hope. Hope is costly. I know, I’ve tread on its vestiges.
Nostalgia defines, memories, they bind. I drain them every single day, but the next morning they return. I try to fight them, the daemons, but they I can see them growing stronger. I can feel them, can sense them and have I tried defeating them. But it’s getting harder. The night is getting colder.
It’s getting dark, too dark to see.