Memories of A Joust

If only he had saved them. If only he can now look back at them and recall the way his heart palpitated. The way his imagination ran amok as he saw the word repeatedly pop up.

"Typing"

"Typing"

"Typing"

The way he would project himself into a future where he would lie beside her, sleeping, and then wake up to be faced with a smile that would warmly welcome his recovering soul back into the world with open arms. The way she would wipe his tears off his face, and gently speak into his ear, "It's okay. I am here with you. You are not alone." Her words wrapped around his shoulders like a warm blanket, acting as a sort of catalyst or spark to the engine. As if they were blown into his ears like how the wind would blow across his face as he walks through the gardens he regularly visits. Like how his mother would speak to him first thing in the morning when she would want to wake him up. The engine would roar. The engine still roars. He would offer his words back, hoping it would cast the same spell on her. Why must this engine run like this? Such intrusiveness, disruptiveness, selfishness.

Now, he occasionally glares at his phone, and sometimes feel his eyes shiver. How weak it is for a man to feel desire and pain from such a thing! How strange it is for words to be such powerful tools!

He never asked her out. On hindsight, probably for the best. He never really met or talked to her in person. But maybe it would have been worse if he did. Maybe. Such is the enchanting nature of the engine, to lure its prey into its traps, to buy in on its doings. But there is a possibility of manoeuvring through its traps. A possibility of achieving victory and unity. But his horse grows weary. His armour is flaking with rust. His lance made of soft, rotting wood.

How long will this joust persist? A joust so familiar to him and yet requires immense willpower to deal with. But like any joust, like any struggle, like any battle, it will go away. It will end. But how it ends relies on the knight. He is a doubtful knight. A hesitant one. A fearful one. Afraid of the engine. Exasperated by the noise it makes as it runs. Tempted by it.

How has his mind transformed into such a state of turmoil? Such unrest?

He cuddles up in his bed, somewhat in a fetal position, breathing heavily, looking at the phone placed at a distance on the table to his left. Then, his heart begins to pound. He can feel his mind begin to gain momentum and approach supersonic speeds, like an infant strapped in a fighter jet or spinning in a centrifuge, dealing with the inevitable rise in g-force. There is no ejection button. He is stuck in the ride as he feels his body being lifted from the bed he lies on and sucked into a realm of otherworldliness.

He heaves a sigh and shuts his eyes, bracing for impact.

This will be a long joust. The engine will keep on roaring. But one day it will end. And he will remember it for the rest of his life.

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Note to reader: Sorry if this was kind of cringe. But at 4am it just came out so I wrote it down. Yeah. Hope I didn't waste your time with this read.