[ twenty years ago on the fifth of may, kaveh, too, passed away. for this side of the story, there is nothing as sentimental, or special, or worth telling. it is a story easily forgotten, of a child who has been forgotten, in a world that prefers to remain forgotten.
twenty-seven years ago, a child had been born into a loving, caring family. that, too, is a story forgotten. at age four, that same child had learned the importance of care, and that all that is fragile is wont to break. it had lost its foundation, but it received, in exchange, a single pillar. that child had not lost its shine, or forgotten that to smile, the ends of a mouth must reach one's ears. the child still had room to shine, and gleam, and glister, until its light dimmed, and died. until its pillar had been taken, and the child crumbled, and fell, and lost itself amidst the rubble.
the child's story, then, begins here: a hand taken, and a child that could no longer be called a child, for it had then lost its innocence and purity. kaveh, the not-child, fell into the well of a world that knew only to abuse his desperation, his dependency, his need for attention. kaveh, barely ten years of age, not yet stripped of selfishness, would cry, cry, cry, and beg: please love me, please need me, please don't leave me.
he had, then, been loved. he had, then, been needed. he had, then, kept a company, and another, and another, until a debt, too, had been built. until a web had been formed, and at its center, kaveh. stripped of want, and need, and independence. all he had for himself was a name, and a filthy, scarred body. a suit that fits him just perfectly.
and such is the other side of the mirror, deprived of light, deprived of importance. it is, after all, a story forgotten, until that same pillar is rebuilt. until a voice is heard. until a face is seen.
twenty years. kaveh, who clung to what made him whole, would not forget. kaveh, who held onto the debris, and dreamed of that pillar, told himself: this will not be forgotten. the kettle is. the birds outside are. but not the pillar. never the pillar. ]
... Alhaitham? [ twenty years. kaveh had never allowed himself to forget, but he knows well that he is so easily forgotten. that the child who had died twenty years ago is, after all, dead. that kaveh has not been that child in a long, long time. ] I, uh. Nevermind. Sorry, haha, I was just making sure you're the right person. ... That's your name, yes?
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twenty-seven years ago, a child had been born into a loving, caring family. that, too, is a story forgotten. at age four, that same child had learned the importance of care, and that all that is fragile is wont to break. it had lost its foundation, but it received, in exchange, a single pillar. that child had not lost its shine, or forgotten that to smile, the ends of a mouth must reach one's ears. the child still had room to shine, and gleam, and glister, until its light dimmed, and died. until its pillar had been taken, and the child crumbled, and fell, and lost itself amidst the rubble.
the child's story, then, begins here: a hand taken, and a child that could no longer be called a child, for it had then lost its innocence and purity. kaveh, the not-child, fell into the well of a world that knew only to abuse his desperation, his dependency, his need for attention. kaveh, barely ten years of age, not yet stripped of selfishness, would cry, cry, cry, and beg: please love me, please need me, please don't leave me.
he had, then, been loved. he had, then, been needed. he had, then, kept a company, and another, and another, until a debt, too, had been built. until a web had been formed, and at its center, kaveh. stripped of want, and need, and independence. all he had for himself was a name, and a filthy, scarred body. a suit that fits him just perfectly.
and such is the other side of the mirror, deprived of light, deprived of importance. it is, after all, a story forgotten, until that same pillar is rebuilt. until a voice is heard. until a face is seen.
twenty years. kaveh, who clung to what made him whole, would not forget. kaveh, who held onto the debris, and dreamed of that pillar, told himself: this will not be forgotten. the kettle is. the birds outside are. but not the pillar. never the pillar. ]
... Alhaitham? [ twenty years. kaveh had never allowed himself to forget, but he knows well that he is so easily forgotten. that the child who had died twenty years ago is, after all, dead. that kaveh has not been that child in a long, long time. ] I, uh. Nevermind. Sorry, haha, I was just making sure you're the right person. ... That's your name, yes?