The White Cliff 30

Before she could accept my invitation she asked of me the solution to a riddle. Of course my life as a loner fashioned me with a knack for the puzzling so I obliged. Beyond understanding she riddled to me:

I cannot run, but I’m always running. I cannot speak, but I’m always speaking. I cut myself in half to make a whole, and inside me I am sullied so I cannot sully myself. I end all of the beginnings so I can begin my ending. And I wait patiently for the cliff, so that I know how to brace myself.

Surely I thought this lady rather mental. Her riddle seemed more like a death threat, and it made little to no sense but I stirred in it. As I felt the need to do. I tried hard to search for the answer. Months went by and the truth relentlessly evaded me. And so later that year I returned to her once again.

I know not what you ask, and I cannot ask of what you know. But I wish for the obvious primal reasons that you accept my invitation. She looked down on me with a bit of disgust and some pity, but like I figured she would, she accepted the invitation.

The festivities went well. At 30 we took on more debt in one year than we had in the first 30 years of our life. But it was fun. There was a band and there was an open bar. So we went with it.

At 31 the spell wore off, and we were forced to do something completely crazy. We had to see each other for what we really were. Wasn’t too thrilled about that. But there was comfort and structure, so we went with it.

At 32 I started focusing on this distant memory of desire for more, and she fell into a most abhorred chocolate addiction. Both our bodies began to morph considerably. But this was expected, so we went with it.

At 34 we accepted our distant selves and the abruptness of failure, so we did what anyone would do in that position. We decided to clone ourselves. It came with much pain and compromise, but there were the photos and a sense of purpose, so we went with it.

At 40 we decided to retouch ourselves to reality by turning everything into an elaborate war bred from nothing. We set fire to the clone a few times and let our tertiary problems set their roots in the front of our minds. It was tough and strange, but there were the holidays and the crazy plays, so we went with it.

By 45 we had become particularly disgusted with ourselves but every now and then we snuck away for a small retreat. Usually twice a year. We touched skins when desperation set in, and when that wasn’t the case we tracked back to our secondary options of course. It was odd but primal, so we went with it.

By 50 we had cloned ourselves a few more times. At this point it was more of a race to the finish line or a game to to see who could do it more. Or maybe we were wasting away decades for a few dear moments of “happiness.” Again, it was not ideal but it worked for us, so we went with. Don’t know why we would see it any way else.

Though one day I walked into an ominously tranquil joint dwelling. The clones were at play somewhere years away, and I happened upon absolute silence. “Honey?” I called out yearningly for the first time in 20 years. She didn’t respond. I could only assume she was neck deep in a bath or brain deep in an erotic novel. So I scampered upstairs to meet her. To rejoin to her. “Honey?” I called again. I never figured, but I knew now that it wasn’t what, it was when. I walked closer and closer to our door that was ajar. I nudged it open and the blackness found my eyes. I fell to my knees in disgust. The salty water was now drained from my eyes.

There she was. From the ceiling fan was a 1500 TC Persian spread twirled up to resemble a rope. And from it the one who accepted my invitation. Face blue. Eyes bulging. Body white like a ghost. I tried to construct a mental damn, but i could not. The rivers came flowing as she hung there. She looked nothing like that one i had seen so long ago. So much it felt as if she was completely a new person. And maybe that was the best part. That the beautiful girl i had seen so long ago still was intact. That she didn’t have to deal with this fate. The salted water half blinded me but what I could see beneath was a piece of paper. A note. I crawled over to read it. I needed to see. See what has taken her away. And as I quickly unfolded it and brought my vision to the prophecy my mind went deeply back in time. To 21 years ago:

I cannot run, but I’m always running. I cannot speak, but I’m always speaking. I cut myself in half to make a whole, and inside me I am sullied so I cannot sully myself. I end all of the beginnings so I can begin my ending. And I wait patiently for the cliff so that I know how to brace myself.