“Ephemerality (from Greek εφήμερος – ephemeros, literally “lasting only one day”) is the concept of things being transitory, existing only briefly.”
Efímeres stigmí tis efforías…
Sweet ephemeral moment of euphoria… how I long to hold you for more than the fleeting moment that you are.
You raise me up to heaven and then leave me on the outskirts to stare. You show me the marvels of Atlantis, but pull me in with no pit stop for air. I’m taken through nirvana with no moments to spare; so quick you bright your flickering light.
I’m a nomad of the desert thrust into a safe haven where water falls freely and I could want of nothing more… but it’s a passing port that I know I can’t keep. It’s the bittersweet pinnacle – a sense of happiness which implodes my heart to desolation; a love that overfills me until it weighs me down… Because you give and then you take, but I know that is just the nature of you.
So I try to savor the moment and be in bliss, but there comes a bitter, harsh sharpness to this happiness. Soon enough this ecstasy will halt; the rapture will puncture the bubble I’m in.
This moment will soon be a part of my premature history, taken away so soon. From wanderlust to wonder-lost, there’ll be nothing but a residual memory to hold onto; a lingering shadow of an instant that will never return.
But whilst the moments pass through my fingers like the irretrievable, lost air surrounding me, it’s the descend which leaves me paralyzed. For these moments of elation instill within me a new longing for something I was always without – I’ve seen the light and can no longer sit in the shade of the ordinary, and the tough part comes in explaining my way…
Yet, these moments of euphoria lack articulacy; I speak of my encounters, yet am heard as a madman telling tales of magical places. I dream of a world of colours but wake to a world where I cannot see. It leaves me with a melody from a sweet symphony, but I’m muted with an inability to sing. I’ve been given the answers but no one knows of the question. I hold within me the urgency of the cure, but the world is oblivious to its disease.
So I blend back into routine, flow with the mundane and slowly this moment dims and decays until my nous becomes my noose. But I’ll be here waiting in anticipation, for you, sweet ephemeral moment of euphoria, to take me again. Because in a world of black and white, these moments are the kaleidoscopic miracles worth living for, and that is the iridescent spectrum I seek to belong to.
Diary of a Deluded Heart
Written: June 20th 2016
Published: August 9th 2016