Waiting and waiting
At first,
space was beautiful.
Delicate aloneness,
overwhelming in its cold serenity.
20 years ago,
I remember thinking for the first time
that
I would never
be able to describe it properly or succinctly enough.
20 years in,
space is still beautiful, but
I never thought beauty and placidity and serenity could be so backbreaking.
I thought I knew what I was signing up for
when I signed up.
When the monolith appeared in the sky and took
a billion people away
before disappearing
the rodeo of humanity changed
and, as a result,
I am on a lifetime mission near Saturn
to wait,
to watch,
to send word
if the invaders ever come back,
like there would really be anything we could do if they come back.
A billion people they took away
as quickly as I can snap my fingers,
smoking holes
the only things left for
anyone
to know
someone had even been there.
And here I am,
hoping my alarm,
if it ever be raised,
might send some sort of signal back home to run for the hills.
Ships appearing in the sky,
you blink,
a billion gone
and my call home could prevent it
a second time.
Right.
Knowing I am the harbinger of doom
gets
heavier
every
day.
Still,
maybe lovers can kiss one last time,
a parent could hold their children.
I worry about missing something,
or sleeping through the wrong blip or bloop
or misunderstanding a heat signature
or even still feeling connected to everyone down there.
I am out here to watch out.
I am removed from it all.
To most, I exist beyond the beyond.
In some ways,
my name has already faded
from memory
because I am gone and I am never coming home.
I will never see anyone ever again.
In another 20 years,
maybe my journal will have finished transmitting
and I will be remembered,
there is that chance.
There is also the chance that
something goes wrong
and I am transmitting to nowhere
and I have already faded beyond anonymity.
A ghost of a ghost of a ghost
sitting out here and staring out at Saturn.
I am the only one
who is thinking about me
and I wonder if that even makes me real anymore.
If I think and move and breathe,
but I am never
felt
or
seen
or
heard
or
touched
then does it even matter if I think?
Does it even matter what I say
about beauty and serenity?
Does it matter if a ghost screams?
