A Eulogy for a Fictitious Man
This is for a man who once taught me that I must be clear before clever.
So I will honour him by first saying that he does not exist and never has.
He is a skillfully crafted figment of his own imagination and recklessly of mine.
One that I ruefully believed was real yet, to this day, wish he was.
He was larger than life, this man who walked like he knew things others did not.
He stood above us like he was a hundred feet tall.
As if stature in the physical sense was a mere construct.
As if those of us around him should feel fortunate to have been in his shadow.
He had a story for every occasion to the delight of all within earshot.
For like a preacher, his words sparked hope and peddled the promise of light. He created disciples out of those who were weary of carrying the true weight of existence.
Out of me, who willingly suspended disbelief for a more pleasantly whimsical yet inaccurate reality.
Make no mistake. The man I speak of is made of flesh and bone, just like us.
I should know because he made me touch him in ways that made me feel filthy.
He, too, touched me in places that I now find I can never wash clean.
That night, I began my period of mourning for the fictitious man.
Gone was the person I glorified as some bearer of otherwordly wisdom. Shattered were the distorted mirrors he used to deceive me into thinking I was safe.
As were the lenses I wore to blur out moments when his true character slipped out.
The ones I chose to drown out with a laugh track to delude myself into thinking his malice was harmless play.
But now, I must lay him to rest alongside my resentment and rage.
Because by keeping his memory alive, I unknowingly kill off parts of myself.
Because my stories, while less pleasant, are the truth and deserve to be heard more than his.
Because I am real, and I do not deserve to grieve over someone who is not.
So here in this metaphorical unmarked grave lies the fictitious man.
Once undeservedly admired but now endeavoured to be forgotten.
If he must be remembered, may it not be for his feigned greatness.
May it be for what he truly is — a mere trick of the light.
