desert rations
i met an old, dying man on the desert road. i recognised his face, he was me from a long time ago.
“how could it be?” i exclaimed.
“i am you from back then,” he said, startling me, “when we had nothing but hope. do you remember me? i have been waiting to talk to you.”
“what do you have to tell me?” i asked, impatient as it began to rain.
“did things get better? i have to know.”
“they're getting better now,” i said but he cut me off.
“i waited for so long. if things got better, why did it take so long? i have been sitting in this desert for a decade, waiting for the rains to come. all the hope i had in me has shrivelled up like this dying body. i gave everything i had, i sacrificed the little love i still felt, and i gave it all just to hold on for one more day, one more year. so tell me again, why did it take so long and so much of me?”
“perhaps,” i suggested that there had been no better option or that it had been worth it. but such words were not worth even the air it took to breathe them nor to retell them.
gripping my wrist with his bony hand, he demanded a defense over and over and over again but i could give him none.
“i, i remember so little of it now. those times back then.” he said. “i wish i could've borrowed a little bit of joy from you now, a little bit of water, for back then, to nourish me. i wish i'd kept some of it for myself, but i never could, could i?”
rainwater pooled at my feet, around his body, the sand turning red wet under the sudden storm. he coughed weakly, mustering all his remaining strength. i kneeled down, to bear witness.
“i have to accept this,” he decided as water rose around him, the sands turning to tides, “and i will. this desert shaped me but i do not need to count my rations anymore by their water drops.”
and i watched him sink into the flood and disappear from my sights. beyond my sight, i hoped he would find his way to precious soil beneath the sands, and take root for a new life.