The Jabberwock

The story of a man torn yet held by many souls, contradicted, but swallowed by the honesty this world has yet to give him. Sounds like a sort of purgatory, and it is. I’m swimming against the river of defeat. But I’m not. That’s my reflection that I hold no power over. It’s a game. That you can’t win, people try and swing faster, but get nowhere. Not me through. I walk, watch, and ignore. People want to see their soul succeed given they think their soul is who they are. It’s not. It is what holds your place in this world. Until you realize while you swim you’re doing nothing. The current pulls you back no matter how fast you swim, no matter how hard you try. Get out of the water. That’s what I did. When I left I gave my soul away. It wasn’t a smart decision, but who cares. They have it. Not just one person though, it’s divided. That might be the reason I got out of the water. I lost, not at life, but what is supposed to be mine isn’t anymore. My life is mine, the soul swimming in the water however, isn’t. Sliced like an apple it was given away. I know I can’t win, is that another reason why I’m not swimming? All these thoughts are running through my head, but I see something. Just across the river, on the other bank, a person. I know who they are, but I don’t know who they are. The sort of feeling that you know someone but don’t know the true intentions of them. I can tell they’re smart enough to get out of the water. But they don’t know they are. There’s a reflection of a man looking with piercing blue eyes coming from the river looking at them. That man is me. I’m not really there, they think I’m there, but I’m not. I want to be, but I’m not. I was before. Before I got out, out of the river. They had me. Not in a physical sense but in a mental sense. My eyes have been there for years. Have, past tense, my eyes have now moved on. To an object, no, a person swimming in the water next to their soul. Yet aware, somehow aware they are uselessly swimming. I look closer, it’s another pair of eyes. Not mine and never seen before. They’re looking at me with visible intent, yet I’m stuck, is this the same as my eyes on the person on the other side of the bank. My eyes, which I gave away with a piece of my soul. I can’t take it back nor do I want to. It’s gone, almost sold, but I’d never sell my soul. Or at least I don’t think I will. That’s what it looks like though. I gave up every piece of it to get out of the water. I never wanted to swim. I was forced to, until I gave away my soul, the thing weighing me down. Those eyes though, even as I think about this they continue to follow me. You can’t help but notice the purity they conceal within them. Are they real? Am I real? Is this river real? Or is it the tears of regret flowing from the people it once consumed before. So I look away. It’s too far to hold, I tell myself, as I push up the bank. Yet again, when I look back the eyes still follow me. Reaching my arms out I grab the eyes and pull them from the river. I smile, and stare into them for what feels like hours. I see something though, my reflection. Or rather the lack of. I’m not there. Just a ghost holding something that isn’t his. Is this nirvana?