Crashed

It started with a crash.

I guess everything somehow starts out this way, that, as mortals with brains that can only grasp so much, we're just not aware of the complexities of nature and physics and everything that we know that influence the lives of men around this blue sphere we call Earth.

Things colliding with varying degrees of force, it is in the heart of everything. It is in the heart of both creation and destruction. (Though it is said that matter cannot be created or destroyed; only transformed from one form into another, or so states the Law of Conservation of Matter, yet one can only be skeptical about these "Laws". So in this piece, with your permission, I move to suspend this Law and thus I continue with my almost incoherent rambling.)

Everything in this world is borne out of things bumping and smashing into each other. Immense quantities of energy are produced by the swirling, chaotic dance of atomic particles crashing into one another. Lives are ended when bullets and shrapnel run into vital organs.

The universe is one big bumper car ride and more often than not, these collisions leave marks that would last us for the rest of our forsaken lives. (I'm not really bitter, just being borderline psychotic, neurotic, and manic-depressive but not bitter. No, Good heavens, NO.)

This epiphany happened when your existence first crashed into my reality. You are a bowling ball bringing disorder to the orderly group of ten pins that is my life. You suddenly appeared without warning, very much like Germany's blitzkrieg invasion of Europe, and there's no way in hell that your commanding presence could go unnoticed. And like a Frenchman caught with his drawers around his ankles, a muffled "Sacre bleu!" was all I can utter in the face of such inevitability.

Pretty much like introducing a bullfrog to an alien ecosystem, everything was thrown off balance. Every routine, every habit, schedule, every time table I've planned you turned conveniently to crap. Instead of being alarmed, I was drawn even more so to that magnificent source of distraction, destruction and pain.

My days were soon filled with the constant bickering (You always looked so cute whenever you're annoyed so I tried to piss you off as best as I can), the smug swagger you'd do after I've given up and surrendered to your whims, the shrill, ear-piercing shriek as you sang, and the way you playfully smack the back of my neck for no apparent reason. Curiously though, these are the high points of my day.

Despite the harrowing carnage that you've wrought, I started to rebuild around you. I made you the agora of my new metropolis, very much akin to how a tree's bark grows over a deeply-driven nail.

Oblivious to the painful fact that deeply-driven nails can be forcefully removed, leaving the bark disfigured, and dying.

As sudden as your arrival was your departure, effectively transforming everything in my world into one beautiful, putrid, decrepit, twisted and twitching mass of emotional trauma. Such was your power over me. Someone who didn't take bull from anybody, you turned into a sniveling little boy. Someone who defied authority, you made into an obedient machine. Yet something tells me that I wouldn't want it any other way.

Now I believe, neurotic as it may seem, our time together was really brief, almost a split of a split second in a cosmic time scale of the universe. As instant as the moment of contact a bullet shares with a wall before ricocheting away. (Though some walls are lucky enough that some bullets get stuck). Our encounter was so brief and quick and instant that it shouldn't really matter. To further dwell on it is just a waste of time, oxygen and brain cells.

Why the title then? Why all the talk about crashes, collisions and impacts?

You are a 460mm shell fired off the massive guns of the legendary WWII battleship Yamato.

I am a wall of the first little pig's flimsy straw house.

And while you have decimated and obliterated me completely,

I wasn't able to manage even the slightest dent on you.