Thursday, September 30, 2010

Drowned by Faith

Oh but I just want you to know that I don't believe in your superstitions. There's nothing there but empty thoughts and hollow promises; nothing tangible at all. You may argue that that's the point of believing: it's not faith if you can see it. Yet I can't stand here and watch you get taken in by foolery; I need something better to believe in. So let me tell you about my faith.

I believe that one day there'll be a mass revolution. People taking to what they feel, what they want, instead of cowering in the corner clinging to ideals while the whole world crashes down around them, trying to take comfort in the way things "should" be, rather than what they are. I believe they'll all rise against the accepted and forge a new way for the future, where it doesn't matter if something seems impossible; they'll try for it anyway. There'll be a time where rebellion ceases to be a cause, and becomes a way of life. A time where people start being instead of wondering and dreaming; taking leaps instead of steps towards their goals.

"But that isn't faith. That's already happening," you say to me. And I reply, "Exactly."

Yet there's more. I believe that someday there'll be someone who will lead me alone down to the sand as the sun sinks into the sea, and I'll let them, even though I hate the sand, simply because it's them. It won't matter what happened before we got there, what happens while we're there, or what will happen afterwards. The point is, it will all have happened.

You look at me quizzically, as though you don't understand.
"It's faith if there's no evidence that it will occur," I explain. You look away, perhaps embarrassed, perhaps uncaring; who knows? Clearly, you're another of the six billion to cross off the list.

So stop burning your candles for me, stop whispering your prayers, stop dabbling in an old maid's witchcraft. It's all drowning in the light of something stronger.

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Make Your Miracle

There's a difference between looking and seeing.
A difference between listening and hearing.
A difference between wanting and needing.

On occasion, it's difficult to tell one from the other.

You still wonder sometimes, what would have happened if you'd looked the other way, whether things would have turned out differently. Whether what you feel now would still hold true. Make no mistake; it still would have happened, whether you turned just at the last second, or whether it bludgeoned you on the back of the head, or whether it simply found another way, it would have happened.

You lie there as though your wings are broken, but they've never been spread wider. They wait for you to stop clinging to your last scrap of nostalgia so they can let you soar once more. You're on the brink, just put in a little more effort; before you know it, you'll be flying high. Stop looking for the past in the future, be brave and take a different path. Open up to what you don't know.

Just don't sit there and let life pass you by, because you're waiting for your miracle to happen. You have to reach for it. Otherwise you will end up sitting on that same old street corner, old and frail, wondering where on earth you went wrong, and why you're still there when all else have moved on, climbed higher.

Remember, there's a difference between staring at something and grabbing it.

A difference between seeing, appreciating and understanding.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Light at the End of the World

See the light at the end of the world. Feel it as it fades, melting, dripping, seeping over the horizon; liquid colour. When you feel like the only person in existence, let yourself go, flow with that colour, ride that light. Don't you want to see where it takes you?

Bleed into another realm, hidden beyond the horizon, where it's all unknown, different, take it in, breathe it, taste it, live it. Float with those changing colours as they melt over the ultimate border, it'll take you somewhere surreal. Just be warned, once you're gone, following that light at the end of the world, there's no way you'll be coming back.

Monday, September 27, 2010

The Forge

It's time to become someone different. Someone you want to be. It's not fair that you should feel uncomfortable within your own skin, like it's too big for you, and you don't quite fill it out properly. Forge yourself from a different mould, carve until you're happy.

And don't tell anyone that you were unsure whether it would work.

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Will it Rain?

Don't let fear of the worst keep you from reaching for the best. Dare to hope for something better.

Saturday, September 25, 2010

Interrupted Paradise

The simplest truth is always the hardest to admit:

I miss you.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Masked Reflections

In a quiet moment, when darkness has fallen, close your eyes; you'll be able to feel your walls crumbling. The fortifications you've assembled to keep you protected are falling away, chipping and cracking, slowly revealing who hides within. You are aware that you are not ready for them all to see you as you are, but there is nothing to stop this process.

All those years you spent building up those walls, all that time, all that effort, it is amounting to nothing. All because one person managed to break through them completely. Now they're gone, but their destruction lies evident. It is in the way you laugh louder than anyone, cheer harder, hug tighter, for those are the ways you are trying to rebuild your defences. They are the ways you try to remind yourself that you are vulnerable, and that you must pretend to be strong once more. You're trying to refit the mask that is no longer sculpted to your face.

You're afraid of what they might all find beneath that mask; you're afraid that they'll all run scared. You're not as good a person as you seem, that one person made sure you show you that. They cut you and bruised you and toyed with you then left, terrified, when you began to bite back. They'd pushed you to your breaking point; even a saint's patience has a limit, and you sure aren't a saint. They were too cowardly to face what they'd created in you and now you're left, alone, lonely, seeking something you don't understand.

You'd flee back into the arms of the person who broke you, even though they despise you, with an undisguised hatred. You must understand; they cannot look at you because you reflect who they are. They hate you because you embody all that they could have been, and all that they take away from themselves when they hurt you. For every time they beat you, they'd rejoice, for you are one who shares in their lonely pain. But they've left you now, because they couldn't bear the thought that the fault of creating another like them lies with themselves alone. They look at you and are reminded of their own evil, of the person who hides behind their own mask. Only the truly good can bear to be stripped naked of their façade, and they are always too modest to do so. Remember, you were one of them once, before that person got to you.

So in a quiet moment, reflect upon everything; recall who you were, wish for who you could be, vow to start living once again. But don't close your eyes, because all you'll see is the face of the person who broke you.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Eye of the Beholder

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And I've never found you more beautiful than now; the forbidden always looks more attractive. Yet I suspect that if I were to try, I could make you want me all over again, and make you lift the ban you've placed on us.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder. This is true; it is because you begin to forget all the flaws, you begin to overlook them, focusing instead on all the good qualities, the ones which made you fall in love in the first place. I wonder if your heart's grown fonder of me in my absence, the way mine has grown fonder of you. But then, perhaps it has grown more bitter. It is unfortunate that I do not have the ability to read the human heart.

I do not deny that around other people my attitude towards you changes, that I grow bitter and angry and annoyed at the things you do. It is a mask for how I truly feel, for I think it is more acceptable to feel angry than to still love you. I am conforming to what I think society expects from me in our current circumstances. While it is a lie, it is not entirely a falsehood either; but I am learning to look beyond what vexes me.

Amazingly, as closely as you kept me, I never felt caged, though you feared that I would beat at the bars you'd placed around me, as though escape was the only thing I thought of. However, I never thought of escape. I experienced far more freedom with you than you would believe. I know you would not believe it, you think that you incarcerated me too much; I say you freed me much more. Physically you imprisoned me, but emotionally I was at liberty. You should understand that that is something I will take with me for the rest of my life.

Supposing though, that it worked the other way too, then I recognise that I must have imprisoned you also. Although I did not feel chained, perhaps you did? Maybe that is why you needed to fly from me. I suppose I must say that I understand. After all, everyone longs to fly. Everyone deserves that chance.
I hope the flight has been enjoyable, and that you have taken some important life lessons from it. But I also want you to know that although you may want to return at the end of it, I may already have taken flight once more. Perhaps we'll meet mid air someday.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Writings from Despair

No, honestly, you have no idea what it's like to be me. Yes, you're sympathetic for a moment, you know when to put on that face and try to comfort, but in actuality, your comfort is not enough. Quite frankly it isn't what I'm looking for.
I return home each day feeling emotionally drained. You don't understand how much just spending a day among people actually takes out of me, especially in a place where I have to deal with the people I wish I knew where I stood with. Maybe I make things more complicated than they have to be, but maybe, just maybe I'm actually seeing them for as complex as they are. I cannot concentrate because I am too tired; all I want to do is collapse and be rendered unconscious by sleep. Although sleep takes me to dreams where all my fears are played out again, I have a comfort in knowing that I won't wake up and remember them.

On the one side there is you. You whom I have spoken endlessly about, the words colliding and running over one another in an endless cycle. And yet I could speak forever about you. Yes, repetition is boring, but it may be the only way I can get closer to you.
It's been too long. I loved you once, now we don't speak. I want to reconcile, but I can't because I don't want to love you again, even though I never really stopped. I want to embrace you for who you are, but I know that it just may well be impossible. You changed me, and I cannot say that for the most part it was for the better. I was a better person before I fell for you.
I don't blame you, but the fault is not entirely mine either. Nowadays I don't know what I want from you anymore. It's too hard to be friends, and most likely impossible to be lovers; how should I know, we never tried the latter. Came dangerously close perhaps, but never tried.
But I miss you like there's a hole inside of me, carved to fit you perfectly. None but you shall ever fit it. Just know that. The saddest part is, we are most likely going to finish things this week without having made up, because neither of us is brave enough, nor perhaps even wants it enough to try. It's too confusing, and it hurts too much.
I don't know how you feel. In fact, I barely know you. It's depressing, we spent so long together, and now we're almost complete strangers. True, if we were to meet we would not have become friends, but that would be because we didn't already have a history like we do now.
Damn it. Do you see? My confusion comes across here too. Perhaps what we really need is a time of intense intimacy, where we give ourselves to the other completely, only for that short time. Then we may get a sense of where we stand, of what we could have, what we gave up, and finally be able to move on. Because god knows that nothing else is working. Treating you like you don't exist hurts more than it heals.

And then there's you. What to say about you? Where to begin? Our relationship seems so simple on the surface, but I have the feeling that there is something as yet hidden, lurking beneath. I have the feeling that there are things you really don't want to tell. I should respect that, I know that you will do things all in your own time, but I'm far too impatient these days.
You weren't always in my life, but now that you are, you play such a big role that it's disconcerting. I'll admit that there's something disarming about you, something that made me pause and think for a moment, all those months ago, which I then dismissed. I wasn't really ready to fall for you. I'd only just really met you, was only just getting to know you. That something returned in a dream, and shook me to my core. I hadn't expected that. I dismissed it again, and it didn't return, mostly because somewhere along the way, I was distracted by, then fell for someone else. But now they're fading out of my life; and what I'd pushed aside all that time ago is slowly fading back into view. I'd forgotten, but you said something and made me think about it all over again.
This time it comes with something a little different. This time, if I'm to listen to intuition, it seems you may have feelings for me. Problem is, you haven't said anything directly. That's too bad. I can't be sure from subtle implications and body language and what I think is flirting. Then again, perhaps I'm just assuming everything is an implication, seeing as I missed every implication the first time around with the other person. Maybe I'm just hearing my intuition wrong. I won't know until you tell me.
It's a bit of a problem you see, because I promised I wouldn't fall for you. But that promise is slipping. It was slipping long before I'd even made it, long before I even fell for that other person, because you must understand, although the feelings for you got pushed to the side, they never went away. Now they're just coming to the fore again, this time with a vengeance. Breaking a promise isn't easy; breaking a promise you wish you hadn't made is even harder.
Right now what I want from you is the truth about how you feel, so I know where we stand. If there is something in those hugs, those touches, those words, then you need to tell me. The fact you got quieter when I gently mocked you for sounding like you were trying to convince yourself that you had no feelings for me implied the complete opposite of what you were saying. I understand, I do. This is fear and longing all rolled into the one. The only cure is for one to be satisfied. But I can't help you if you won't tell me anything.
Because if it so happened that my intuition is right I would no longer care about breaking that promise. In fact I would do it willingly.

What I need is someone I can crumble in front of. This is all too much and I can't be strong anymore, wanting nothing more than to crawl up into the corner of a darkened room and cry until all the worries have disappeared. I need someone to come and save me, from them, from the world, from myself. I know I'm only likely to find another broken soul like me, but then at least perhaps we can pull through it together. Nothing is worse than being alone. It is the greatest tragedy of human existence that what we fear most is what always comes to pass.

Sometimes I think that the world would be a much better place if we did not have the disposition to fall in love. There would be fewer people who wanted to have a truck run over them because they could not find any other cure.

The Unwritten Epic

It's such a shame that we let the bad times get the better of us. It's a shame that we let fear and uncertainty stop us when we could have gone so far. Now I don't know what to do. I could apologise until the sun exploded, but that wouldn't bring back all the times we've lost. The only thing I can say is that I won't make the same mistakes again; it hurt too much to make them, and neither of us have anything to show for what we used to have except a broken heart. Not even the memories make us smile anymore.

Ironically, the stars grow dimmer in the shadows that lengthen and darken our lives, casting a depression on our hearts and a melancholy on our minds. It's not healing, this wound you left on me; or perhaps it just needs more time, more than the two months its already had. Two months of anguish, of crying out in the night, in the silences, seething with incomprehensible pain unbeknownst to anyone. Getting over annoyances are easy, but leaving behind people, that's a whole other matter, one which I am not able to overcome.

I think sometimes that we were caught up in something that neither of us quite understood. Thus we were afraid to take it further. Our relationship was deceptive, our story even more so. None but we know the truth, and that truth is that there was nothing. Nothing could be more anticlimactic than nothing, nothing more disappointing. And yet, that is what happened between us. Even though we both might have wished otherwise.

I'm apologetic for the both of us always being at each other's throat, snared by a battle of emotions worthy of an epic. I'm sorry that neither of us came out of it entirely whole.

Monday, September 20, 2010

The Night Students

Anxious waiting. Nervous fidgeting. Twinge in my stomach. Darting eyes. Breathless sighs.

Waiting for you.

Heart skips a beat. Heart speeds up, races. Heart hurts. Heart loves.

Eyes drink all that is you, only through furtive glances. Shy smiles followed by outbursts of raucous laughter. Tentative touches, the fear and tenderness hidden in a façade of indifference; we're all too afraid to fall in love. We're all afraid of being left broken. But you can't live if you don't let the seasons change.

Shall we lose our innocence? Together we shall learn, two eager, passionate, but timid students of love. We shall determine whether their philosophies are correct, and if we disagree we shall invent our own. No rules, just life, just love, just you. Come, we'll make the night ours, and share it with none but the owls.

And in the morning we'll serenade each other with sighs, and laughs, tongues playing with names. In the day we'll brush fingers along hands, and lips upon brows. Close your eyes, listen to my prayer, promise never to leave. I'll surrender my heart to you if you swear not to crush it; we're all too fragile. I won't let you go, not after being caught by your kiss, not after being held in your arms. I promise not to cause you pain.

What do you say?
Will you come take me away?

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Waking the Dead

I wonder how you'd feel if you found out that my love for you lies bleeding, bruised and broken. I wonder how you'd react if you found out that it was all your fault. I don't think you'd be able to accept that; I think it would make you cry. I hope those tears you shed are more in number than the ones I shed for you because I deserve those tears as compensation for what you've done to me.

My heart now lies cold, in a tomb somewhere long forgotten; there's no chance of my getting it back. I fervently hope that someone will find it; I need someone to save me from your demolition of me. There was a time I thought I'd never be the one who needed saving, but that's one of the little ironies of life; the unthinkable becomes a reality.

But even the worst of times must be balanced with good; even death must be balanced with life. I cling to this tightly, my only hope that there is something better ahead. The ice cold, dead heart must be balanced with something warm, alive; so I'll hope my saviour has a fire burning in their eyes, enough to awaken what has died.

And then we'll take the world by storm.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Dream of Paradise

I had a dream of Paradise. It involved waking up every day next to you, the air filled with the scents of sweat and morning and love. Tracing my fingers lightly over the angles of your face, then down the ridges of your chest, and around, so that my hand lies resting on your lower back. You pull me closer, and we lie entangled, a mass of limbs and flesh, my skin tingling where your hand ran over it.

I live for the anticipation of those sleepy Sunday mornings, where the sun will rouse us from our lovers' slumber. We shall stir, but not move from that heap of sheets, afraid to lose the moment, the lovely contentment. None will dare intrude, and we shall be happy to pretend for a few minutes that nothing else exists outside our own bubble of satisfaction.

The world may beckon and call, and we shall rise to obey its every command, but not before we let ourselves enjoy those blessed moments with one another. They are all that shall matter, when one day we sit ourselves down and count our lives in moments.

I know that those times will come, I see them, hidden in your eyes; I see the promise in your disarming smile. I know that I will feel them when I can sit and watch you sleep.

Friday, September 17, 2010

The Mourning Bride

Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned
Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned

The Mourning Bride
William Congreve

Leaves of Dreams

Abandon the leaves, graffitied with dreams, awake to what is real, here in the world. Those night-time hallucinations tempt you and draw you in, time and time again, but things can be much better in reality if only you invested your time there to make it so.

If you are determined enough you can change your life to be the way you want it to be. You will be able to awake every morning next to your lover, have them kiss your eyelids while you whisper "hello love." You will be able to step into your clothes and not feel that you are assuming the mantle of a different person, nor feel that the fabrics hide who you are.

You can feel happy. You know it to be true, so why do you hesitate to reach for that which would absolve you of your mistakes, and reorganise your thoughts so that you look to the future, not the past? It would not be easy, of course, but you are throwing up your own obstacles that need not be there. Take your life into your own hands just this time; the next time, I will not have to tell you.

And maybe, just maybe, against that tiny glimmer of hope still burning in your heart, you might actually reach what you deemed unattainable. Those dreams, scrawled on those pages may actually become a reality.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

More Than A Stranger

Confidence betrays vulnerability, and a smile betrays fragility. Please don't break me again; I'm sure you see how I can't stand against you any longer. Neither here nor there, and I don't know which way to go. Someone, please point me in the right direction. In any direction.

Some say I should be the better person and tell you I'm sorry, that I'll regret it my whole life if I don't. I scream in my mind "don't you think I know that?!" but you seek advice when you know the truth you don't want to accept, and hope that someone gives you an innovative alternative. None have, yet. I'd say that I'd keep searching, but time is running short; the last grains of sand are slowly trickling to the bottom of the hourglass.

In many ways I want this to be over. Yet not the way in which you think. I want this situation to be done, and for things to perhaps return to something normal; a time where I don't cry over you, or am depressed over you, when I can look at you and smile, or perhaps start a conversation. Is that so much to ask for?

Someone once told me, "In the three years we were close friends, I've never seen you so depressed," and thinking on this, I realised it was true. But I question: is the mark of love how much it hurts you to have it gone? Or is it better to have it gone because it hurts you?

I cannot understand how you must muster more courage to be humble than you do to be brave. Perhaps because in the latter you are gambling with your life, something fleeting, something which will eventually mean nothing, while in the former, you gamble your heart; and the heart knows tragedy like no other.

Sometimes I believe that we would all be better if we lost ourselves in the faery kingdom, as our ancestors had, long ago. Then we would need no pain like this, no worry, no need to be courageous in matters we thought we'd never face. The cobwebs would have been our playthings, the flowers our loves, the leaves our shelter, we should have needed nothing more.

But we are human, and those times are long gone, the faeries disappeared into their dwelling places within the earth, not to be glimpsed by the eyes of humanity; for humanity is a lie. It speaks of compassion and comfort and love, but in reality, will betray them out of fear. Humanity's weakness is its own insecurities, its fatal flaw the one it cannot overcome.

Thus I am left here, and you seem to sit beside me, your ghost leading all that I do, and I know that I cannot look at you, but perhaps I should not have to; the downfall began when we wanted to be lovers but knew not how to let go of the friendship. The truth is, we were limiting ourselves; if we had let our friendship grow, it would have encompassed us in our entirety and we would have become much more than mere lovers.

But it is too late. I cannot even look you in the eye; as a friend I never had to, as a lover I never could, and now as a stranger, want to, but simply cannot because it hurts. But it's the,most odd feeling, missing someone who is part of you, but is now nothing more than a stranger; and yet, so much more than a stranger.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Flying's a Matter of Trust

We've walked a strange way, have we not? There were times when the light shone full and bright upon us, leaving us without a care in the world. There were also times where it filtered down through leaves, those days bringing with them some darkness, but also light to help guide the way. Then those times where we could see nothing, everything cast in a darkness so black that we were blinded; no light, no hope, no direction. Those were the times we didn't think we'd make it through.

But we did. And we're better for it. Aren't we?

It's been a long, long day, lasting years, and now the sun is finally setting upon it. Night is settling in, but before it does, we have one last chance to utilise the last light of day. In these last few moments we will spread our wings and take off towards the horizon, showing them all how far we have travelled. None will believe it, but their eyes do prove them wrong.

Come, come fly with me. We will soar together, you and I, and no one would dare to stop us.

Do you trust me?

Monday, September 13, 2010


For many years I drifted, alone and lost, without a sense of direction, of where I was, where I should be, where I was going. I was alone and as helpless as a rickety wooden boat, battered and tossed by the force of waves. But as my vision starts to clear and the sea calms, I see that I am where I was always meant to be; and that is here, beside you.

Slowly, but surely, I am being compelled back to the lonely shore, lonely no more. My boat shall alight upon the sands as the sky glows its last burning embers of colour, and you shall meet me there. Together you and I shall gaze out across the calm sea and observe how far we have come, and that although there were tempestuous times, we are indeed calm and patient now. And we are thankful, for we have each other; shoulders to support each when we weep, eyes to rejoice when we each laugh.

They might all take the sun, the moon, the stars, leaving us in blind darkness, but as long as we can feel the other beside us, we know we are never alone. There cannot be words to describe the gratefulness that one feels for having others such as we have each other.

There is an overwhelming comfort emanating from the knowledge that you and I share the same air, that you expel a breath which escapes only to be taken in by me as I inhale. This alone is a closer intimacy than that lovers could ever share, or mothers could experience with their children. Your breath is the life of me, your sigh is the heart of mine, your whisper is the love I share with you.

So please, keep breathing; I die if you stop.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

Into the Ether

The sky offered us a better life. It said "Come join the stars. I promise they'll keep you safe." The setting sun winked at us as it descended past the horizon, and we cringed, thinking perhaps there was malice in that gesture. So we denied the sky and were thrown here.

This is what happens when a soul abandons the ether; they are cast down to the earth, a prison until they have learnt their lesson. Each one will have something to gain from such a time. Again and again and again they pass through the cycle upon the earth, and there are those among us who have walked the same tracks for millennia. The question is will we eventually learn when to let the sky take us?

We were born of the stars, and to the stars we shall return, but only when we allow ourselves to be taken. We each are like the lonely raindrop who drops from the clouds, spends a day clinging to the leaves of a tree, before trailing down and being soaked into the ground. The winding journey then begins, through the ground, into a creek, a stream, a river, before rushing into the ocean and being embraced in its entirety. So too are we like this raindrop; individual souls whose last resting place will the ocean of the ether. We have each returned there several times, but it is not until we allow ourselves to let go of Life that we truly belong there.

For that reason I will search for lessons in this life which I feel I must learn, so that perhaps next time, when the sky offers me a choice, I can say that I will stay and be like the broken boat returning to the healing shore. Perhaps when you return for your next lifetime, I will be above in that astral plane, watching you, guiding you and loving you.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

Custodians of Lonely Hearts

I looked out my window to see the tiny crescent of the moon, glowing against the purple twilight sky. She feels like a guardian, watching over us as we go about our dreaming. She represents the most important cycle of life; that things come and pass, and nothing ever stays the same. You can see that truth in the dark half of the moon, still outlined, although the light of the rest makes it fade. Each month she passes through the phases of life, from birth to maturity to death, forcing us to remember that balance; the Ancients called her the Triple Goddess, and we do well to remember their truth.

She is accompanied by her friend, the Even Star. They guard the night while we sleep, while we dream; Immortal comforters of those who must pass. Until the afterglow of sunset dies they are the only ones in the sky, stealing moments alone before the rest of the stars appear to share in their light; I remember times when we were the same.

Now I wonder where you are, what you're doing, what you're seeing, feeling, thinking; wondering whether you're thinking about me. Beside me the candles flicker, and the light of that crescent moon and the star shine down through the slats of my Venetian blinds, and I exhale to the pulse of the ballad playing beside me, the powerful vocals expressing my very own thoughts. The sky has become draped in the darkest navy velvet, studded with that guiding light, listening to my heart's theme.

I have come to terms with the fact that I wasn't supposed to love you. Though I still wonder about you, I now wonder something else; whether there is someone else, sitting alone in the dark, listening to their own piano ballads, staring at the same thing I am. Are we supposed to meet, they and I? Will the moon and the Even Star,  those constant friends, those self same lovers, draw us together? Will those match makers of the sky bind us as we both stare at them upon their velvet throne, we, unknowing, until we collide during some lonely day. Will that ordinary day become the most cataclysmic of our lives?

I wonder what the sun will look like gleaming off their hair, what colour their eyes are, how they smell. I know that their disarming smile will make my stomach lurch everytime, I know that I won't feel out of place in their life, the way I did with you. We'll begin our first conversation, "I love you," with no question of "how could I fall for you?"

I send a prayer up to the moon "Please don't make me wait much longer. My heart can't take it anymore; I'm afraid it's going to explode within my chest and splatter all my love inside me. If I don't love, there isn't a point to this life of mine."

I wait in eager anticipation of the time when they and I become a "we"; the union of two separate entities. We'll lie beneath the curtains of light, on one beautiful night, the mother moon the smiling witness to our tryst. We'll whisper things that only the trees will hear, while we, entangled in one another, slowly fall asleep.

Friday, September 10, 2010

Searching for Something

I seem to wander aimlessly through life; there's no direction, no destination, even the journey seems dull. My eyes pass over things, always slightly out of focus, and everything seems to be covered in this impenetrable haze. The colour seems to have bled from the earth, and the wind seems to have become icy rather than warm.

I seem to be searching for something, without entirely knowing what it is that I am looking for. I think that I am relying on the belief, however naive, that I will know once I find it; that there will be a pull in my chest and I will simply know.

For a while I thought that you were what I was looking for, but I think now that I was wrong. You see, there wasn't a moment where everything became clear, and the haze lifted, but rather, the fog became thicker and the world became more confusing. There was too much uncertainty for me to believe that you were what I was looking for. At least, that is what I am hoping. I fervently pray that I haven't made a huge mistake and that I wake up in 6 months time wondering why on earth I let things pass as they did.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Boy and the Ghost

The streets are cold, and his fingers are numb; the poor little boy, locked out in the perpetual winter. They turn their backs and pretend that they don't see, but they see, they know he stands there in the frost, staring at them with doleful eyes; they know he wants to come in.

They call him the "Unnatural Child", the lost boy, the one without a home. It's not his fault that he must wander; she took his heart from him, she stole the warmth from his home. He does not want to return there, for fear that he might see her imprint lingering, that he might still smell her fragrance, that he might hear the cadence of her whispers. He can't face his ghost - the girl who held his heart.

He never imagined that he would suffer from a broken heart, and yet, he could feel the pieces of it scattered within him, piercing his lungs, his stomach, his throat, causing tears to spring to his eyes. It only hurt more when he caught a glimpse of her shadow, stalking the streets he wandered through, and for a moment, his ghost becomes solidified, a real person. He glances away, afraid to meet her gaze if she looks at him; he doesn't want to see his hurt reflected in her eyes, and yet he hopes that she hurts, instead of feeling indifferent.

Soon the seasons will change, winter banished into the oblivion of another year, spring taking its place, and then too passing, melting into the summer heat. With the coming of the summer, he would have left those cold streets, leaving her behind, leaving the cold, leaving all the people who couldn't care less. And while he hopes for a better future, he cannot comprehend life without her in it; it seems so pointless.

He cannot deny that there is a tug at his heartstrings when he looks at her for but a second, he cannot say that edges of the hole where she used to sit don't graze him. He misses her, he realises, and instantly wishes with all the pieces of his shattered heart that he was in her arms again. Alas, he knows it cannot be. He realises now, too late, that he loved her, that he had unknowingly entrusted his heart to her; her absence made him grow fonder. But she wants nothing to do with him anymore; she had given him chances, he gambled with them all, he lost them. He's broke. It hurts her like it hurts him, but she is steadfast in her feelings, and resolutely avoids him. He pretends that it doesn't matter, but he returns to that empty, cold house, and finding the darkest corner, draws himself into himself, and weeps.

He woke on the morrow, feelings wavering; there was a faltering determination to stop loving her. How was he ever to find another if he could not let go of her? But she passes too close, her eyes dart to him from beneath their eyelashes, he mumbles a few soft words, she moves on. The war within him is ignited again. Reason screams at him to pull himself together, reassemble what is broken and march forward to another day, leaving behind all traces of her. But the Heart, it whispers softly, its lilting voice cutting through the tormented anguish of Reason, reminding him that he still loves her, that even though he couldn't look past the flaws when she was with him, that he still loves her. It tells of how he took forever to fall for her, but as surely as the day follows night, he did, and it reminds him of the happiness he felt when she held him, the contentment, the quiet bliss. Reason cuts in to harshly remind him about the bad times, the uncertainty, the lies, the hurt, the things he didn't like about her, but the Heart's voice speaks clearer still, the chime of a crystal amid the din of a riot.

He wants to side with Reason, but knows the Heart is truer still. He just wanted things to go back to how they were, where she wasn't trying to force herself into a role she didn't fit, and he had to fight to keep up with a person he felt he didn't know anymore, and hated because he knew that she was different deep within.

He finds that he didn't hate her, he hated what she made him think he'd become, he hated the way he went from feeling loved to feeling worthless, all because of where her attention was directed. He hated that he didn't know how he felt most of the time, because she kept changing who she seemed to be. He got lost trying to follow the different personas. He got sick of trying to show her that she didn't need to be those other people, but could be who he knew her to be. He hates how his happiness went from being self created to being entirely dependent on her.

He is alone in those streets, wondering why on earth he is still there. Wondering why he can't pull himself away. He knows the answer of course, but wishes that he didn't. He hopes the summer will arrive quicker, and yet dreads it all the same. He sees her ghost again, crashing into his dreams, walking through his life, taking his life, slowly, by taking away his feelings, because he was stupid enough to give her his heart.

He feels alone, and his fingers are numb from the cold. Suddenly, out of the darkness, a warm hand takes his; it is not her, but someone different. For the first time in eons, he smiles, a heartfelt smile. And he begins to think that perhaps he fell for the wrong person after all.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Straightforward Lies, Contradicting Truths

Your perfume still lingers here, although you're long gone. Sometimes I wonder if I imagine the scent, dredged up from the ruins of my memories of you. Is this going to be the last ghost I have of you?

It's not easy becoming a stranger in your own life, and yet oh so easy. I look at my life as though I'm standing on the outside, in the cold, while the warmth mocks from the inside; from that place where you're still here. Maybe you can hear my heart thrashing out to the beat of an invisible drum every time I think of this.

Don't want you here anymore (can't let you go). The pain still wrestles with me, pinning me down. Count it out: one, two, three; Pain you win, why won't you leave me be?
You gripped me tightly, tore me too easily, released all the darkness, does that make you happy? Tell me why it was me. So many others but no, you came for me. Thank you, you held me till I bled, now the blood won't stop flowing. It won't stop until I sleep.

But you've made me an insomniac. There hasn't been a good night's rest since you left me. I wake and stare up at the empty ceiling, where I used to paint out the scenes of you and me with my eyes. Its whiteness mocks who we used to be. The false purity doesn't keep away the nightmares.

You had a grasp on my life so tight that I have still not pried my way out. Your talons grip my heart; oh god it hurts. You've gone but you've taken a huge chunk of me with you. How do I fill the hole? Its blackness grows, envelops me from within, there's no escape from it.

It's amazing how you managed to turn the tables. For someone who craved freedom above all else, I would give anything to be caged by you again. Irony's a knife and it stabs me over and over again.

I wish I didn't have to see you anymore (please don't disappear). I'll wish upon a lonely star; Star will you listen? Will you answer? I need your help, I cry to you in the dead of the night. Direct your light to the path I should take; should it be the one of reconciliation, or is it too late for that?

Lock us in a room together, until we sort it out. I'll bash at the door till my knuckles become black and blue and red, and I'll yell till I'm hoarse, but don't pay me any mind. Leave me there till I run out of breath. Then maybe I'll turn around and look you in the eye. Or maybe you'll kick me while I lie in a ball on the floor. Make the pain physical.
More physical than the depression in my chest, in that empty cavern you used to occupy. They don't lie when they say that emotional pain can become physically manifested; I feel that now that you're gone. How dare you leave me here alone?

Hey you. Fuck you (I miss you!).
I never forgave you (Please come back).
I hate you (I love you).

Tuesday, September 7, 2010


I'm just a little frayed around the edges; don't mind that, I'm not likely to fall apart where you can see. Be sure that you don't tug too hard or I may unravel, and you'll be able to read my story in the threads of me, the story you'll wish you never knew. There are desires there which you wouldn't perceive, and regrets you would not believe.

Wishes to run my fingers along everything, absorbing the essence through touch; making Beauty tactile. Moments of frenzy where to see is not enough, when satisfaction only arrives through contact; a whole dimension can be lost without touch like the roughness of the bark of a tree, or the softness of velvet or flower petals.
Desires to lightly trace my fingertips along the contours of your body; skin barely making contact with skin. Desires to lose myself in your neck, and leave behind a trail of kisses leading down to shoulders...chest...navel...
Desires to intertwine my fingers with yours, or to weave them through your hair. Desires to be tender, loving and affectionate without a plague of insecurities. Desires to feel you wrapped around me in the dark. Desires to see those desires reflected in your eyes.

Innate longings to fly free, in the most literal sense. There's the need to feel for a second that I am flying, that I am liberated, that I am invincible. How unfortunate it is that humans don't have wings. One day I shall climb into the sky, look down on the earth, far, far below, and then jump; the ground will rush up to meet me, but in those long minutes before we meet, the wind will roar around me, and the clouds will melt in protest; for that moment, I will feel invincible. The desire pulls at me, I can feel it in my chest, in my heart, more than any other. I may have to live with it unfulfilled.

There is a yearning to be reckless and carefree, to live selfishly for just one day. I want to laugh at the most ridiculous of things until the tears pour forth in an unstoppable flood. I want to sink into the haze of a vapour, creating a different persona for me for a few hours; perhaps I shall be touched by my inner artist, the one suppressed by thoughts and reason. I have the urge to see colours I'd never seen before and absorb details I'd been too careless to see. I have the thirst to pour out all my heart and soul for the rest of eternity.

Does that scare you?

It terrifies me.

Monday, September 6, 2010

A Forgotten Path

Who has ever sat and stared at those appendages at the end of their arms and marvel at the way that the digits move? We take them for granted, that is certain; they do so much more for us than we are fully aware.

Our hands write, pick up things, hold, touch, feel. They are records of things we have done, mistakes we've made, from touching heated iron to being cut on the razor edge of a paper. They mark the path we've taken through various stages of life. They bear the scars we've forgotten all about.

You can tell more about a person from their hands than anything else. Those who have a hard life have rough hands, scarred and marked and lined; their nails are chipped and dirty, their skin dry and hard. Those who have had less troubles, and not had to work so hard have smooth hands, with only the smallest of marks. All you need to know of a person is written in their hands. There is a basis to the art of palmistry after all.

Don't take them for granted; they aren't there to be bashed and abused by your carelessness. One day, there will be someone who holds your hand, and be able to tell from the feel of them alone what kind of person you are, whether writer, artist, musician or business person, accountant, or even parent.

Sunday, September 5, 2010

Axis of Symmetry

For every little thing we take from this life, we must give back a little more. We must not steal from others when it would be easy for us to give them something in return. For every bit of beauty we experience, we must work to return with beauty of our own; a smile, a laugh, a touch.

We each must learn that there is a precarious balance we must maintain - our lives depend upon it. Too much giving and not enough taking and we collapse into a depressed heap, drained of all our life force. However, too much taking and not enough giving, and we end up alone.

Strive so that you may appreciate all there is to appreciate, to attain what you thought was unattainable, but also remember that for every thing which comes your way to help you to your goal, you must give something in return. Take opportunities which will help not only yourself, but others; put yourself in the way of a person who is struggling, and help them to the path which will lead them to fulfilment. And yet, do not give too much, for a person who is drowning will invariably cling to those who offer salvation, and both shall inevitably be lost.

I too shall try to do this, but as a wise being once said, "Do or do not. There is no try." We shall either be successful, or fail; but truth be told, the more people who strive for a common goal, the more likely it is to be attained.

Life is what you make it, so appreciate and create beauty where ever you may go.

Saturday, September 4, 2010

Fanciful Wanderlust

As soon as the door is open wide enough for me to slip through, I shall be gone, disappeared into the haze which coats this city. I want to run, far away, so that the horizon might engulf me and take me away to a better place. It's a shame you won't listen now, because when you turn to say something to me, you will find that I am no longer there; and you won't know where I've gone because you never cared to listen.

I shall find a beautiful place, abandoned, with the dirt of decades staining the windows, and I shall claim it as my own. It shall look over a park and I shall watch the people go by, wondering how they each came to be there and what their stories are. Some shall have a spectacular elegance about them and I shall imagine them sitting around a long table, sipping their expensive wines. Others will have the look of dejection and depression; my heart will shout out to them, embracing them as kin. Then of course there will be those who walk on sunshine, and I shall pick them easily from the rest, for they shall tread lightly, as though there was a cushion of air separating them from the ground upon which they walk. The homeless too will play their part, stalking the grassy expanse, and settling down on the uncomfortable park bench as the light grows dim; I shall watch them the closest, for they are the ones who deserve much more than what they are given.

In that place, I shall find who I am. As yet, I am not one of anyone, a mere outsider, waiting to be sorted into a category I have no wish to be in; the walls of words shall be my prison, but I shall strive each day to tear them down. Perhaps I will be successful.

In any case, it shall be somewhere far from here, where the people speak a different language, and the air tastes different. I will float away on the breeze one day and arrive somewhere where freedom is rife.

Friday, September 3, 2010

To A Person I Loved

I know you don't like it when I tell our story. I know you hate that people are learning the truth. I know you rather I keep it all to myself. But there are reasons I speak out.

I hope that each time I tell it, it will hurt a little less. I hope that each time I tell it, there is someone else who can help me out of the hell I've trapped myself in. I hope that I can wake up tomorrow and not think about you, or want you, or regret everything that passed between us.

They say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger, but first the world must shatter you completely, and scatter those parts of you in places you must spend the rest of your life trying to find; all so that you might have a chance at feeling whole again. I'm drained of life, and my own broken shards pierce me, unable to be dislodged, because I find that I am the one pushing them further in. Perhaps my feelings for you will drain out with my blood, upon my hands, upon the ground, the earth devouring the tale written in my red. The stain will never be removed.

I confess that I still watch you sometimes, when your back is turned. I cannot meet your eye; I'm afraid of what I might reveal in a glance. I'm sinking into a pain so numbing that it is obliterating all other feeling. The world no longer contains the joys it once did; laughter does not uplift me as it used to, there is no comfort in an embrace, but nor do tears pour forth. I know the blame does not lie with me alone, and yet I claim it as such, for I cannot let you take it; you are far more fragile than I, despite how it may seem. You do not know of all the times I sacrificed my pride, and hurt myself so that you wouldn't feel any pain. You don't know how much it still kills me every time I think of how I did hurt you.

I should not indulge in these thoughts, or these emotions; they do nothing for me but cause pain. And yet, I cannot help but want to sink more into their oblivion; there is almost a sweetness about it, almost a comfort that there is something which lies dead within me.

I loved you, and now desperately wish that I could stop. It is slowly fading, but the evils of emotion is that they don't fade fast enough. I'm afraid that the only way that I'm going to stop loving you is if someone else comes along and I fall for them instead. That's the main reason I plead for them so often in my writings.
.....I wish it weren't taking them so long.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Fight For A Cure

A leaden weight presses on my eyes and an iron chain anchors my spirit. I stumble through each day, dragging my burdens along with me, for I don't know how to leave them in the past. At the end of the day I collapse, a tired heap, and hysterics threaten to overcome me as I fight to stay awake. There must be some cure for this sickness.

I search high and low every waking second, hoping that something will present itself to me and cure me of all that is wrong. However, there is nothing, and every day I fall, disappointed, wondering if I should bother stirring on the morrow. Sometimes I don't feel at all, and other times, I wish I couldn't feel because the feelings are never good. I know that I am sick, and I know that there must be something that can be done, only, I don't know where to find my cure.

I'm tired of putting on a brave face, of pretending to be strong, when I feel so fragile and vulnerable on the inside. I don't want sympathy or pity, I want someone to fix it and make it all stop haunting me. I'm too frayed, and the threads of me are beginning to come apart; soon enough it will be obvious to everyone else. It's ridiculous how you can feel so alone but at the same time know that you are not.

I'll try to patch myself up with impermanent glue and sticky tape, but it has not been successful thus far. I will continue to drown among my sheets on my welcoming bed, the most sympathetic friend, and hope that tomorrow might bring something different, something that will stop this fatal illness.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Live Curious

I am left to believe sometimes, that we live each day for curiosity. It is as though what guides us, and pulls us and drags us through life is the burning curiosity to see what might be around the next corner, to see what might happen if we say that particular phrase, or wear that particular shirt, or press that particular button.

We can never say never because nothing at all is certain. What you thought might only last a moment might in fact last forever, and promises you thought were indestructible might be broken tomorrow. So we must grasp what we have been given, and mould it if we must, so that we are always reminded not to take it for granted.

We must over turn every stone and kick up every leaf, for we never know what might be hiding beneath them, waiting to be discovered. Look around every corner, and in every direction, use your eyes to see what isn't there as well as what is. Ask a million different questions, knowledge is sacred and what's sacred is remembered forever. Take the road less travelled by, for you do not know where it might lead you until you are well and truly on it; it may lead you exactly where you are supposed to be.

When you are ready, untie yourself from the moorings of comfort and home, and go exploring, the way you did as a child. The adventurer within you has not disappeared, but rather, lays dormant, ready to spring into action at the slightest beckoning. Trek where none have dared before and discover ways, methods and things no one else has discovered before you. Remember, shoes are meant for walking in, so don't be afraid to wear them out.