by Yahaira L. Reyes

Search for her, and you won’t find her.

She stares at a picture on Facebook, and her blood trembles
Her body rocks out and her insides feel like running happy circles
What is this? She asks, does this mean something?
“No, continue, just ignore,” another voice says. “It’s probably the brain 
           searching for meaning
Inside a universe that gives zero fucks.”
But the street, a passing look, a wonderful name
The Crimson Moon, she’ll never forget;
She was not supposed to see it, to read the sign or mention its existence;
She did, and synchronicity once again appeared;
A beautiful song, once forgotten, Happiness lies in your own hands 
           as the choir goes
A secret, a message brought back to the fore, was it coincidence? 
           she asks the voice.
“It means nothing” it answers, “and if it did, it does not anymore. 
           Simply Carry on.”
She remembers the store and the booklet, the feeling and the lovely design
The cover has a drawing and its reflection: As Above So Below 
Her favourite maxim, she mouths the words;
She reads the artist’s description the mother land is mentioned, 
Her brain making impossible connections
A far away continent? A (former) lover’s temporary home, 
a hasty judgement, a painful sentence, sorrow, meaning? And hurt
“Stop!” the voice tells her, “the universe cares not! You’re just 
           a speck of dust; move on.”
Synchronicity, she hears them say; 
The planets, the stars, the alignments.
Look around you and you’ll find it.
And what if she’s made of its dust? 
What if to every event she frantically assigns meaning?
And in every word read on every street, she connects imaginary dots 
What if she does it to find reason, to make a ‘tragedy’ make sense
Doesn’t synchronicity mean something then?

 “No, it does not.” Oh reason, logic and that horrific sense of worthlessness
You're the voice, you show up inside the frontal lobe of her brain, 
           and speak again:
“There’s no meaning, it is over & the universe had no hand in your ‘tragedy’
You were not perfect enough, a mistake was made,
Fear was set in his heart replacing feelings he might have had
You dared fall off his high pedestal? You deserved what you got!”
She hears you, believes you and cowers down, a blanket 
          of guilt covering her soul
And again, your words are obeyed: “There’s no hope, simply carry on.”
Meaningless or meaningful, should this quality matter?
She loves to be in sync, to believe the universe responds to her cries!
The feeling that not all is a pure and uncontrolled chaos
That reason and meaning are behind the countless disasters in her life;
“For a reason” synchronicity speaks to her, all is and happens for a reason.
You attempt a negotiation, pretending to go her way to have her go yours:
“Forget all, remove all, perhaps such happiness is not for you
Believe it never happened. What if this is the meaning that’s due?
What if this is your destiny? Should you ignore the call?”
She misses your logic and asks what of my heart? Should it just crumble?
“It will not crumble but become solid,
Like a silver apple, beautiful and indestructible;
Like an eternal jewel that can’t be stained
Nor ruined by the decisions made, by actions others could take
You will be free from searching, free from synchronicity.
And you will be free to carry on.”
She continues, ignoring your plea
And tries to move on,
Her search for meaning
Still a driving force, her reason for living.
She summons her wild side fighting with bloody nails and a cracked tooth,
Biting, grabbing, scratching at will
She aims to crawl out of a pit
With smooth slippery walls
But there are no corners, no cracks, no rocks. 
She attempts a deal with the devil, 'my soul is yours if I can be 
           free of this hurt, but to find
Synchronicity and meaning is still a must. You shall allow me to learn
If my judgement & my sentence were for a reason or for the best
But take away the pain, stop me from feeling, rip away my heart if you dare'
She cries hard, shattering the last of her vocal cords
Uttering a pitiful muffled sound, her voice now destroyed.
But she owes the devil no favours
And her soul is not tainted enough
There is no sweet relief and no easy fix
Go through the pain is simply a must
The walls laugh back at her, aggressively pushing her back to the mud
And she turns back into the hopeful sap that had once hoped, that started it all
She ignores reason, ignores logic, and embraces her heartache
And while laying quietly on her back, grateful for what is
She continues searching for synchronicity, looking up at the stars.

Yahaira L. Reyes is a 39-year-old lawyer & freelance writer native of the Dominican Republic. She now lives in Dublin, Ireland. Her articles have been published in Totally Dublin, The Simpleton, Positive Life Magazine and AmsterDo Magazine.

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About barkingsycamores 183 Articles
Barking Sycamores is a literary journal entirely edited and operated by queer neurodivergent people of color. We publish poetry, artwork, short fiction (beginning with Issue 3), creative nonfiction (beginning with Issue 8), and hybrid genre work (beginning with Issue 9) by emerging and established neurodivergent writers as well as essays on neurodiversity and literature and book reviews (beginning with Issue 10).

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