Faust

***

"We often look under the bed to chase away monsters, but only when we become adults do we realize that we are the ones! We try as much as we can not to chase them away but to keep them..."

***

   Loneliness strikes the last drop of light hanging from his desk lamp. The light doesn't seem the same anymore, and he, the lonely one, tries to immerse himself, to warm his soul in the lamp's final glimmer. And he falls silent... and silence is not his friend when he tries to find himself. He had told himself so many times that he didn't need anyone or anything, and yet... slowly, he transforms into that monster of loneliness.

   Every day, he followed his sacred routine... He woke up at exactly 7 a.m., went to the bathroom, where he didn't even look in the mirror because he was so afraid of what he might see in it... He brushed his teeth, washed his face, and all the while, he looked at his bathroom... his secret sanctuary, the refuge beneath the roof of his own body. Watching the playful shadows hiding through the small window. Sometimes he took a shower, just to wash away the traces of regrets from his skin, but the steam rising like his thoughts didn't dissipate, it lingered, weighing down his soul even more. Every object in the bathroom gradually became an actor in the macabre play that clouded his gaze when he fell into his thoughts. The water, which should have purified him, filled him with emotion and sadness... He felt it flowing like blood in his veins, sometimes at a brisk pace, other times more heavily. The untouched mirror for months became the silent witness of his transformation into that monster. The towels, supposed to be a gentle caress of comfort, were, in fact, a reminder of the shroud he wrapped himself in every evening, hoping that tomorrow would be better. His bathroom - a place of degradation, of decline, where he remembered the turmoil of the outside and inside world.

   The structure of his own game called life lost its breath when it reached the absurdly lonely bedroom, which in the pale light of morning seemed like a mysterious box, a living tomb in which his soul unfolded its tragic spectacle. He had no curtains on the window... he didn't think it was necessary because the blinds concealed his privacy better than anything else. Although he raised them, they never allowed the night to end, even though the light, he lived in his own darkness.

   On the floor, the soft and wrinkled carpet was daily trodden by the muddled words of his shoes. He could always hear the echo of despair, the sound of the shoes becoming part of his own symphony of loneliness. He returned to the bedroom, searching for the lost fragments in the bed where he lost himself. It was always wrinkled - a solitary island. And as best as he could, he arranged it. He straightened his sheets, adjusted the pillow soaked with so many tears, and then covered his bed with the blanket that every evening was his tomb. As a moment of respite, he sat on the edge of the bed and stared into emptiness, gazing at his empty stage. The absurd routine continued, dragging him into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. A chair, a table, a dirty stove, a refrigerator that had long lost its notion of silence. All of them, a harmonious blend of pain. Although breakfast was ready, he left it on the table, but didn't eat anything... It was a constant waiting...

   Routine was his comfort, and he lost himself in the living room, which was his oasis. The walls were covered with subtle wallpaper, trying to add a touch of warmth and refinement. The room's colors were calm shades of cream and beige because he had read long ago about color psychology and thought that maybe this would somehow brighten his life. But he was terribly mistaken... He often picked a dusty book from the right corner of the room, where a library filled with great names, from literary classics to art volumes and children's books, was located. Though dusty, the books were always carefully arranged. They were his most precious treasure. Next to the library was a gray sofa, where he often read his favorite books, alongside a small table where a coffee cup perpetually lay, that bitter elixir with which he often sweetened his day. He was a writer and lost billions of dreams among the pages, piles of written and unwritten pages always lay next to that table.

   Like any other day, his steps brought him to the gray couch where he resumed his work. He was an apparition exuding palpable melancholy. He had delicate yet distinctive features that seemed to bear the burden of memories deeply rooted in his soul. Although he had avoided the bathroom mirror, his eyes were like it, containing rich and contradictory inner worlds. Often his eyes radiated deep sadness, a darkness of the soul.

   His hair, always disheveled in a careless way, had lost its shine since he was 15 when family traumas turned him into a closed-off introvert. His beard made him look like an explorer of his own consciousness because when lost in thought, he would stroke it as a reflex. His clothes were dirty, stained from so much coffee... and although he had others, he often preferred the most worn ones. It seemed as though he embraced memories long gone. Although he had never traveled, he wore a thin leather bracelet, a perpetual reminder that he should have left long ago, but he never did.

   Being a writer, his hands were stained with ink, as his fingers bore the signs of years of writing. He was like a cracked clay vessel that quietly held scars from the past, always fragile and open to new wounds.

   Although it seemed like an ordinary day, he was about to be proven wrong, for each wound was to be reopened even more when he decided to start a new novel. He had felt love once, but the end was imminent. He, in love with her, and... that was about it. As his fingers scratched the still-wet ink on the paper, he felt the words come to life before him. Each sentence, a part of his lost love - the mirror of lost love, and he felt as though he were entering into a secret pact with his own life, like a Faust of old. Although he was the victim of his own story, reality was different... He started to write. Letter by letter, syllable by syllable, word by word... sentence by sentence... In his mind was a puzzle of sounds - thoughts, voices, hallucinations that still left their mark on him...

   The beginning wasn't difficult, but as he wrote, his breathing became heavier... Emotions, pain, memories that hadn't faded away yet. And yet, he could still see Her so clearly.

***

    In this world, among flowers and rays of sunshine, she was a young woman with hair as deep as the night, long and silky, cascading in enveloping waves down to her waist. She was like an unravelled thread of night from the canvas of the sky, guiding curious gazes towards her mysteries.

Her eyes were two deep blue worlds, profound as the sea, traversed by the silvery rays of the moon. In their depths, stars seemed to dance, blending with the radiance of the sky. Her gaze was an ocean of mystery, where souls traveled in search of lost happiness.

Her skin was like fine parchment, white paper on which destiny had not yet written its words. She was the embodiment of dawn's light, a pure and untouched beauty, a precious treasure of nature.

Frail and delicate, she was like a timid flower in the garden of life. Her gestures were like rose petals, trembling gently in the breeze. Step by step, she walked through this world, as if she wanted to leave only light footprints in the sands of time.

On her face, freckles were like stars timidly hiding in the twilight, signs of untold stories. They were small constellations of charm, each freckle carrying a hidden tale.

But the most astonishing was her smile, a divine gift, a fragment of happiness. Her smile was like the moonbeam shining in the middle of the night, a gentle and warm light that warmed the hearts of those around her. It was a paradise of joy, a bridge over seas of doubt.

Her large and bright eyes were windows to her soul, a window revealing a universe of feelings and dreams. In them, you found understanding and compassion, a magical connection to the beauty and mystery of the world.

In her entire being, in every feature, in every gesture, there was a living poem, a melody of nature. She was a portrait painted with the colors of love and life, a creature full of grace and sensitivity, a precious gift from the Universe.

And I adored her. At first from a distance, and then I couldn't get enough of how close we were. And yet... it wasn't enough. One message, two, three. One night lost, then two, then three. A week where our conversations never ended, and then two, three, until we shared everything we had. But it wasn't enough...

I saw her, how many times she brought me comfort with just a smile, how the millions of lost nights became sparks of happiness for me, how every corner of my hermit's home became colorful, how water became solace for my skin, how every sunbeam felt different on my skin, and we... we were in love... I was in love, but she... But every beginning has an end, every good has its bad. A sort of Mephistopheles took hold of me, and then things began to crumble. Step by step, line after line, syllable by syllable. Just as days turned into weeks, the grip of this Mephistopheles on my mind became downright brutal. Shadows danced in the corners of my eyes, thoughts becoming chaotic symphonies of whispers. The once vibrant colors that filled my home began to fade, everything turning monochrome.

Although I thought she was saving me, she was, in fact, bringing my end, becoming my torture. And yet, it was a torture so wondrous. She saw how I changed, how I struggled to stay present, but gradually I withdrew, haunted by voices only I could hear. Her smiles, once my everything, my wealth, now seemed like cruel mockery. This imagined Mephistopheles whispered only lies and suspicions in my ears: "Lies!"

Although I yearned to confess to her, to share the torment that had engulfed me, I was afraid that she, somehow horrified by the darkness that had taken root in my mind, would leave. So all I could do was build a wall around my fragile soul, push her away, and remain in my solitude.

Every day became a hidden struggle. And that Mephistopheles was there... every day more and more. And so my face was shrouded in the mist of despair. Every day, I saw her and remembered the agony I endured. I wanted to be happy and clung to every little thing... a smile, a gesture, a memory, a subtle glance, a touch that slowly faded into nothingness... but it wasn't enough... and the sky began to darken more and more, and I couldn't bear it anymore.

That Mephistopheles completely consumed me... I could no longer resist. Chaos had enveloped me, and I, poor me, wrote my testament, hoping that it would end all the pain, while she sought refuge in the search for truth. Only a subtle distancing, one step back, then another, and another, until the chasm between us became so vast that we could no longer hear the whispers of love. Soon, every smile was replaced by tears... every light by darkness... every spot of color by shades of black and white... and she... replaced by loneliness...

***

   Although he had been writing for hours, he didn't feel the passing of time. For him, it was just the blink of an eye. But through those eyes, so many memories unraveled, so many moments, so much pain he had held inside for so long. Usually, he wrote scientific things, modern works contemplating other worlds. This time he was writing about himself, and although it was beautiful, it was so painful. The sun had long hidden in the clouds of the night, and the moon, pale from so much turmoil, showed its proud light. He no longer saw the light... there was no more day and night, no beginning and no end. It was just him, the paper, and the light of the lamp, which now flickered gently on the ink spots. The feeling of helplessness slowly crept in, while his eyes were already tired. Dark circles deepened with each passing second, but this time he had to finish his story... his story!

***

I still browse through the memory of the day when we penned our final adieu. The weight of that moment was like an endless ocean, and tears flowed like an unending river. "It's over," you murmured, and your words were like a silver arrow piercing my heart. I tried to cling to the thread of hope, but the harsh reality of our situation was too much to bear.

As days transformed into weeks and weeks wove into months, I found myself ensnared in the whirlwind of pain from losing you. Our memories played like an endless melody, constantly reminding me of what we once had and what I could never have again. The more I attempted to banish them from my mind, the more I found myself enveloped in our shared past, wondering where we went astray amidst the twists of fate. Often, I caught myself gazing into the mirror of our souls, reminiscing about the old dance of our smiles, the way we tenderly embraced. Yet, those moments were like butterflies, fluttering away hastily, leaving behind only a deepening ache of our separation.

With the passage of time, I came to realize that our love had truly extinguished, like a star losing its radiance. It wasn't merely a passing trial or a lovers' quarrel that we could overcome. We had reached the end of our journey, a truth that was both tragic and heart-wrenching to accept. However, the most arduous part was acknowledging that life goes on without you. I watched the world move forward while I remained tethered to the past, incapable of relinquishing memories and sorrow. It was a stark reminder that life is not always just, and love doesn't invariably conquer all.

That Mephistopheles still lingers, and no matter how hard I strive to rise from the quagmire of my mind, I descend deeper and deeper. I know that if I were to attempt to reintroduce you into my life, you would plunge into the abyss of my despair, revealing the reality I can no longer see. Blinded by this Mephistopheles, you would become my eyes when dreams invade my veins and soul. You would be the true victim, not I – a victim of my ailment. You would become the slave to the truth, while I would remain the master of falsehood. I understand it would hurt, tear, and perhaps even kill. Staring deeply into the abyss, it engulfs you completely, and Mephistopheles would never let you go, for he is my abyss. So, I release you, now and forever!

Yours, Faust!

***

   Although he had stopped writing for some time, having finished his novel, he still lingered deep in thought. Returning to his daily routine, he got up, leaving his pen uncapped, with ink spilling onto the already dirty table, stained with countless coffee marks and longing. But this time, he grabbed his pack of cigarettes, lit his last one, holding it in the corner of his mouth, and stood by the window. The calm of the night no longer comforted him, but he realized that with every word he wrote, the monsters from the stories did not exist. In a hurry, he turned back to the couch, picked up the pen, getting even dirtier with ink, and began to write, tears streaming down his pale cheeks.

***

With one last gaze upon these scribbled words in the night's darkness, I allow them to rest as an eternal memory deep within me. My story has come to an end, and the shadow of Mephistopheles and solitude remains to dance around the pages in endless mystery. Truth and illusions have merged into a peculiar dance, and now, only echoes of a lost tale remain.

These words serve as my final window to the world I once knew, and now I gently close it. I look into the past with darkened eyes, and the future gets lost in the fog of uncertainty. In the depths of my soul, a mystery remains, an enigma I cannot unravel.

The true monster, though it hid under the bed for so long, revealed its face day by day without my realization. The monster is like a dark abyss, a deep vortex in my heart, where the shadows of the past dance ceaselessly. Like a predatory bird in free flight, with outstretched black wings, it feeds on every fragment of light and hope, leaving behind only heart-wrenching memories. Faust and Mephistopheles are the same person, the hero and the monster, in tandem. I am them, and they are me! And so it shall always be..."