Thursday, December 29, 2011

The Vast, Lonely Universe

Solitude. A single dot in the vastness of space. Staring at the beauty that surrounds, there's a sense of wonder, an awe, but mingled with it is a heart aching loneliness. It is one thing to wave cheerily at the stars, and quite another to be part of them. Luminescent clouds of dust and radiation wouldn't be so heartbreaking if there were someone to sit by my side and gaze at them with me.

All alone in the universe, single specks, all alone. How can it be that there are so many who are lonely, and yet will not come together to alleviate the pain? How can it be that my hand will sit empty when we all want someone to find our own?

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Our City

The future, can you see it? You, me, and the city of lights, burning brighter as we learn its depths. Regal buildings which guard the streets, history embroidered with revolutions and elegance, waste and creation, and a pull, playing the melody of dreamers on our heartstrings, inviting us deeper, securing our place within its landscape; the carnival with no escape; the carnival with no need for escape - it is escape. In the dying light, as the sky turns to purple, we'll shout it from the rooftops: "We are home!", and the blue and yellow lights will ignite the city, consuming it in glowing, incandescent fire - a welcome parade better than we could have dreamt. We shall revel in the celebrations, the lights dispelling our fear, our apathy, our foolish nonchalance, dragging us into joy, pure and whole, and better food for the soul than the melancholia we are so used to consuming. Together, we shall drown in the pool of lights and stake our claim on the city of dreamers.

Saturday, December 17, 2011

Fascinating, Beguiling, Strange

An image, fragile, unfocused, but endlessly fascinating - that is all I see of you. You are made up of colours and thoughts and movements, disappearing moments and never fading memories, and yet I know none of them. What lies beneath the surface of your pale skin? I would like to learn. Would you let me? Perhaps.

I see you sometimes, so distant, and wonder, if looking up, you ever see me. Further, and if you do, what is it you think? Do you think anything at all? Do birds in a flock ever consider one another beyond the strangeness of their belonging to the same family? The thought fascinates me, beckons me, yet beguiles me when it yields no answers. I shall pass the days wondering, and cherishing a small hope that I may learn the answers, and that the answers are of a positive nature.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

The Stars and Our Tragedies

There aren't words that you can find, however much you scramble after them, that will alter our opinions of you. Words are meaningless without the intention behind them; attitude is all that matters. And while we have our sights set on the horizon, on the stars, those pinpricks in the universe, yours are on the ground, staring at your feet. You cannot progress, you cannot grow, when you dare not look ahead, further out from the thoughts inside your own head. That is why you are always going to think the things you do, and see the things you see.

Yet, why is that those who see the least are confident the most? It must be that the less you know, the bigger you feel in the world. Is it a paradox of the curious, the intelligent, that we must always feel insignificant with our knowledge, while those who know nothing try to convince us with their ignorance? Another tragedy to add to the list that we keep in the pocket by our hearts.

We must keep in mind that while we are weighed down by those tragedies, we are also uplifted by them. For we are they who shall leap for the stars while the rest of them, the blind, are unable to fathom the courage to do the thing which will shatter their perception of the world. Ignorance for them shall be their downfall. And the greatest tragedy of all is that they shall never know it.

Thursday, December 1, 2011

We All Shiver in the Dark

 But we never really know pain, do we, amid these cages of steel and glass towers and cemented ground. Society is the padding. It is the blade which drags itself across our hearts, which makes us shudder, which forces blood to well up where there was none before. It is what we throw ourselves into, hoping that someone will see. Hoping that someone will save us.

And some of us wear scars, crossing across forearms, embroidering stomachs, decorating hips, tattooing thighs; marks of who we really are. Some of us wear nothing, but the scars are there, just as deep, invisible against the skin, scratched into the soul; peel back the flesh and see what's written beneath. And some of us don't know how to get it out; breath in, drown - that's how it goes - drowning in something which nobody can see; drowning but still alive. We keep breathing because that's the only thing we know how to do; the question still scratches at the back of our minds - should we? Wouldn't it be easier? Some do. Lost souls, all.

Can we ever truly realise our pain until we compare it to another's. We all feel a different hurt, a different pain, but we all suffer just the same. Don't tell us that we don't. We all fear, we all cry out, silent screams which echo in the empty spaces, we all shiver in the dark. Grapple at the light, try to touch the pristine, the clean; dirty it with our taint, the grime we can't remove, ingrained into the layers of ourselves.

Remember. Remember it always; whisper it to yourself when you walk past, when your eyes slide away, unable to bear the reality of another hurting soul. Remember: we suffer all the same.

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

Fuck Normality

Everything we are is everything we should stand to be, forget what came before, be not afraid of what might come next. Stand up, be you. There's no one more perfect than you can be. And if those with spite and bitterness in their hearts try to stop you, let them not get in your way; poisonous plants can only grow where the soil is not pure. Keep true, whatever true might be, whether it be a foot in dreams and an eye in reality. 

Not everything is going to be black and white, but grey. Learn to see the colour. Realise that you aren't what other people tell you that you should be. Make up your own mind. Fuck normality. Just be.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

The Fall

Fall. Falling. Topple over. Trip. Find yourself down on the ground. Taste the dirt in your mouth. Feel the ache of bruising skin, blood pooling in irregular splotches as you lie there. Think about how you go there, what went wrong. Then get up and try again. Learn.

Wednesday, November 23, 2011


I wonder about you sometimes, about both of you, about what goes on your heads. I wonder if you can even acknowledge that you have problems; hell, that we have problems. I wonder if you know that our problems start with you.

You yell. You never listen. The only emotion ever expressed is anger. We can't talk to you, so we don't. God, there are so many things you don't know. You're happy to assume, even when you're all wrong, so very, very wrong. Doors slam shut between us and you'll never know what lies behind them, which emotions, which devils come out to play while you're not looking. While you refuse to look. Are you always going to refuse to look?

Friday, November 11, 2011

The Stupidest Thing

The greatest insecurity, the greatest fear. The greatest hope. But what are the odds?

Friday, October 21, 2011

The Universe in Your Eyes

You told me a part of your story tonight, and it wasn't what I thought it would be. There was sorrow there, far deeper than I imagined, and suddenly, some past actions became better understood. I'm sorry for you, but glad of you; you're still here, after all.

Life gets better, doesn't it? Those dark moments are fleeting; seconds of terror in the spectrum of your lifetime, testing your limits. Look up, the sky is blue, and it's bright for you, for all of them; for all of us. We need to learn to see it.

But I'm glad you're here. You don't deserve to have disappeared - not while there is life in your eyes, not while universe appears in your iris.

Monday, October 10, 2011

Touching the Sky

Tiny pinpricks in the sky, so far, so small, so infinite. With shimmering colour, you paint the sky with beauty, the dead of the night no longer black, but bright. You watch over us in our gigantic playground, and we keep adding and taking away, creating, but destroying. If you could tell us what you thought, I wonder what you'd say. But you're so far removed, I don't think we would hear you anyway.

We are so small, compared to you; a minuscule dot on the face of the universe; an atom in an ocean. Is it any wonder that we try to break out beyond ourselves? When all seems so vast, the only comfort we have is reaching out to become one with that endless space; to touch something so far beyond us is the only thing we can think of to dull the pain of being so insignificant. We don't like feeling so mortal, so we shake the feeling off by trying to tackle the sky.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

Bridge to the Future

The bridge might seem too great to cross, but every journey starts with a single step. Then one step turns into two, and two into a hundred, a hundred into a thousand, until the journey is done. That first one is always the hardest. And now you're on your way. You thought about where you ought to be and took the initiative to get there. It's not easy, it never is, but it is a goal, and a noble one, at that.

What do they see when their eyes stare at you? Do you think they see a failure? Or do you think they see someone who is determined to get to where they want to be, regardless of any difficulties in getting there? What you might feel is hidden by what they see in you; potential shines brighter than agony. It takes more than torture to break someone, and thus, it takes more than an obstacle to stop progress, especially your own.

The future might seem distant and improbable, but it creeps upon you, on second at a time, subtle and almost imperceptible, yet always looming. Sometimes it seems like a black cloud, with a lasso to tie you to eternal darkness; other times it is a beacon of light, guiding you to greatness. It can be anything for you, should you take the right paths. Nothing is ever permanent. Not even the journey.

The Feelings Which Came Again

I suppose you can never really outrun the feelings which have scarred your soul. They never truly disappear, they merely go into hibernation, reappearing when it is least convenient for you, in times of trouble and stress. And then you're back to where you started, wanting to crawl into a ball and cry yourself to sleep, because that feels like the only option you have.

Facing the world feels like the greatest challenge of them all, and it takes every last residue of willpower to hold your head high. All your strength is required to take the next step forward, all your courage is needed to complete the next action. And the next, and the next, and the next, until one day, you find yourself out of the challenge, looking back and wondering when it ended. And all that time, who noticed the struggle?

Wasn't it evident in your face? Couldn't they see it in your eyes, the way they shined with unshed tears? Wasn't it visible in the droop of your mouth? Did you hide it so well that no one could see? Or did nobody care to look?

It cuts you through the heart that those feelings of hopelessness could return and no one can see them in your face. Yet, you know, like the time before, you shall make it through. The depression wasn't strong enough to bring you down last time, nor will it be this time. Or any time again. You won't let it prevail.

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Smothering Fog and Lip Piercings

We're at the threshold, aren't we, you and I? Possibly about to take steps in a different, unprecedented direction. Or do I simply imagine?

I feel my life is smothered in fog, suffocating, but not enough to let me die, so I live in a ghostly stasis, breaking away from life, but not quite joining the ranks of the unliving. Sometimes a ray of sunshine breaks through, letting me think that there's a way out from the mist, that there's something better beyond. Like you, for example.

To be honest, I can't be sure whether you're going to be a ray of sunshine, or trail of fire blazing my way into hell. Maybe you won't be either. Maybe I want you to be something because you're the first person in a long while who's talked to me like I matter. Is that a good enough reason? Probably not, but sometimes any reason is a good reason.

There's an awkwardness between us; the silence which fills the gaps isn't as comfortable as that which settles between two friends - it's the one which occurs when two people are beginning to unfurl to each other, but are afraid of moving forward too quickly. I'm not even certain whether this counts as too quickly; a conversation or two, some customer service, small talk, and finally, an exchanging of names.  You asked the question first, I showed you my name tag. I didn't have to ask for yours, it was displayed on the screen in front of me in black and white letters; a name which has haunted me, belonging to a very different person I used to know. But you're not like her; I can tell.

So were there flirtatious or hinting comments thrown in amongst the awkwardness, like a wolf hiding among dogs? Perhaps there was; I've never been able to tell. Maybe just a little. But I'm not very sure.

I don't know you, but I can tell certain things; you'd want me to give it up to you, that's one thing, and I'm not sure I'll be able to do that. To lose control is a fear of mine, and I know you'll want to be the one who has it all. I can see the glint of it in your blue eyes. Or maybe I'm wrong; maybe you'd let it go - maybe that's what it means when you bite your lip, sucking on the metal which pierces it. Twice.

I don't know. I believe I may be overthinking things again; a trait of mine, I'm afraid. And I don't know whether I should be wondering what it would be like to kiss you with your piercings, or whether I should wonder whether we'll meet again in the aisle with your favourite books. Or wondering anything about you at all. Maybe I ought to stop.

I'm certain I don't fancy you. I'm sure I'm just curious. And I'm sure one day the fog will stop stinging my eyes and I'll be able to see more clearly.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

The Pain Which Runs Down

I keep so many things inside of me, hidden behind a lock and key, waiting for the right person to collide with my life, so that it may all come flooding out. Secrets and thoughts, desires and dreams - they are all there, patiently ticking their time away, from dusk till dawn and dawn till dusk; an endless cycle of rising suns and setting hopes.

Vulnerability: it's not something that I wear well. To lay it out for you would take a considerable amount of time, and trust, and emotional strain; I can't say it's worth it if you aren't going to be there for me when it's all in front of you. So the thoughts keep buzzing in my head, chasing their tails, digging deeper into the flesh of my brain, leaving a trail of scars, ensuring that I shall never forget, whilst reminding me that they're the only company I keep.

I need you, whoever you are, wherever you may be. I need the brush of your arm against mine, I need the warmth of your breath on my neck while you whisper that everything will be ok. I need your arms around me, sheltering me from the eyes which will shoot daggers when I reveal the truth. I need to you to save me from the mundanity of my own existence.

Don't judge me, please, on needing a saviour. I promise it doesn't happen all the time. But sometimes nothing can hold back the onslaught of emotion which rips through you, tearing a rift right through your soul. Sometimes you just need someone who will patch it all up and sew you back together from the skeins of flesh which decorate your room and the blood which paints the walls - reminders of how you couldn't hold it all back anymore. I'm not that close to the edge yet, but I'm on a downhill slope and I'm not sure I'm going to stop in time.

If I explode all over the room, please don't put me in a public place. Don't graffiti my pain across the most blank of walls, don't write it up in your books, don't tell it to your friends. Just be there for me while the blood runs down my neck and chest. Just be there when my blue insides become red outsides.

Monday, September 26, 2011

Empty Corridors

You know, I shouldn't, but I find it amusing, the way some people talk about you, like you haven't moved on from the separation between us. That I find enjoyment in your pain is not something I should be admitting to, but I cannot help but feel that it elevates me above you. You see, I don't care for you anymore, not in pain, nor in sorrow, nor nostalgia, but you, you can barely look at those who are still better friends with me than you and I shall ever be again. My confidence increases tenfold when I hear things like that, because it shows to me that I am a much stronger and much better person that I have ever given myself credit for. And you know something? I don't regret feeling this way, because it means the corridors of my heart aren't empty anymore, the way yours will be forever more.

Sunday, September 25, 2011

A Public Appreciation

I don't think you all get enough credit, you people who traipse through our store, recognising us, laughing with us, smiling nervously at us, buying the books we so carefully put on display for you. So this is for you, the old man with your hat, soft spoken and never willing to share a smile, but who is more loyal than all the rest. It is for you, the mother who comes in with her daughter twice a week, almost always leaving with a brand new book clutched closely in a fresh yellow plastic bag. It is for you, the middle aged woman who loves the vampire fiction more than silly giggling teenage girls. It is for you, the student who always comes in, but not always for studious purposes. It is for you, the father who is always trying to learn new things to teach to his kids. It is for you, the mother who is always buying things for her children and never for herself. It is for you, the lady who wears her sunglasses, even indoors, always on the lookout for a new historical fiction novel to help you escape from the present. It is for you, the teenager who always comes to buy the next book in the series, as soon as she's finished the old one. And of course it is for you, the girl who loves wolves, buying something different every time, while her parents are elsewhere in the centre, occasionally popping in to roll their eyes while you and I bond over some new found similar interest.

Each time I walk through the door, or stand behind the counter with the scanner in hand, I smile for you, because you remember us and make us feel like we are someone in your life. So thank you. We appreciate it more than you think.

Friday, September 23, 2011

The Forgotten Craft

The words have fled, disappearing down some rabbit hole, hiding in the depths of the earth. They left me with a swarm of ideas and myriad of thoughts, and no way to express them, but with all the wrong words. My brain pulses with them, trying to extrude them from their places as electrical impulses and put them down in visible form, but is stopped; it cannot whilst it lacks the tools.

I recall that it is because I have forgotten how to recognise the right pattern; I've forgotten the practice because I've not seen it in a little while. I must read to remember to how to write.

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

The Infinite Scream

So, this is what it feels like to have a secret you cannot tell, to pass each day, censoring yourself because you're afraid of letting it out of it's dirty little cage. But what about those days when you can't help but get close, when you speak of something and it almost comes tumbling out, when people joke about it, and you, in order to protect it, must pretend to feel other than you do? What happens?

This happens. You scream on the inside, loud and clear, in frustration, in anger, in confession. You let your emotions beat against your bones and the inside of your skin, trying to explode through your pores, but you hold it in, seething, close to tears, close to giving in.

You think "one day. One day I'll be brave enough. One day, I won't have to feel like this anymore," and you hope, hope that a safety net will form around you, because you feel that day creeping upon you, and you're terrified that it will leave you with nowhere to stand.

I don't want to have nowhere to go if this all comes out.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

The Creature that Feeds Within

Where did this dissatisfaction arise from? Crawling into my soul and creating a nest there, feeding off the indecision and insecurities which, from time to time, flood through me. I thought I'd done away with them, when I cleaned the cobwebs from the corners within me, brushing away the dust, so that my true self could shine through, the way it had always deserved to.

I know where I want to go, I know what I must do, but I am unsure of how to do it; and this dissatisfaction feeds away, taking pieces of me as it goes, while I try to muster the courage to move forward. It lies on my shoulders now, this burden for myself; the confrontation, one of many, has arrived at the fore, and now I must step up and meet it, not with a shining sword, but with the certainty of my decision, and the confidence that I will prevail - I must find the confidence I have never had in myself.

There isn't a hero who can save me now.

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

The Disjointed Feelings

I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. The more I say the words, the more lost I feel at sea, drowning in waves of solitude and doubt. I cannot give answers to any question but this: I don't know.

The more I try to learn, to feel, to see, the more I find that I know nothing, feel nothing, see nothing.

I haven't needed a saviour in a long time; a year perhaps - a long time in the mind of someone who's forgotten how to measure time by the ticking of the clock. Maybe this is just one of those moments, an echo through the universe of the things I used to feel, rippling forward and reminding me that I used to feel differently: I used to feel too much. I've lost things. I've lost myself.

What am I doing? I don't know. Where am I going? I don't know. Where have I been? That's easier to answer, but it was all so long ago and the passage of time has melted the details.

I sit here, stifled by these walls, unchanged even as I change, hearing the words from the people who are supposed to love me, and I realise how little they know. How little they actually care. They pretend all they like, but they truly know nothing. But what can a well say to a puddle? The puddle shall never understand. It's mind is too tiny to comprehend. The puddle yells and screams and tries to force; it gets angry and frustrated because the well is not answering, but the problem is the puddle - it doesn't know the source of the problem; because it doesn't want to listen; living in its own world of made up solutions, it can never be told the truth. I'm running out of patience. But the puddles can't handle an influx of extra water - they would drown.

The window is open, the night crawls in, and smells, as foul as sewers clings to the walls, to the window sill, to the paint. Is it any wonder that I hide in here? I want to go out into the world - there's something I know - but I don't know what I shall do with myself. Sometimes I wish I could fall into true vagrancy, become one of the delinquents we were all warned about; at least I'd have a place in the world.

I'm tired of being someone else. I'm tired of not knowing myself. It's time I grew into me, wearing the attitude I've always wanted to wear, living the life I always saw in my dreams, glimpses into eternity of darkness, of the grunge they always try to clean.

They can't clean the stain on this soul.

Who was destined for greatness? Certainly not me.

Friday, September 9, 2011

A Linear Progression

Who knows if we are truly moving forward? We do what we think we must do to progress, but how do we know if we've merely reached the threshold, then tumbled backwards? March onwards, we must, it is ingrained into our consciousness, a need, but is onwards always the way we think it is? What if up is down, and forwards is back? What if right is left, and wrong is right? Do we have things the right way around, the way we think we do?

Question what you think you know, and you'll find that you know very little at all. Remember that a linear progression isn't always linear, and that it may not always have a leader, or followers, and that sometimes that is a blessing. Fight only for what you believe in. Live only for what you love. Die only for what you cannot live without.

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

Tunnel of Memories

Somewhere, there's a tunnel, lined on either side with memories, moments of my life where things changed. I can trace my path to this very moments through those memories. Every so often, I'll stop at one, heart beating against the inside of my ribcage, expanding, contracting, expanding, contracting, wishing that I could go back to that moment, because that's when things went wrong. But there's only one way out, and that's forwards - memories are just memories; books written, paintings finished, photographs taken and developed, stories told, songs composed - done, unchangeable. You can't try to stop the world with a tear.

A Memory Manifest

When you think the memories have all gone, when you think that you have moved on, you are reminded, with a kick to the chest that it is not entirely so. When dopplegangers of people you used to know appear, walking through your life unaware of the effect they're having on your rapidly beating heart, you know, without a doubt, that you are nostalgic, even in the tiniest bit, for the days which you still call the best of your life.

That was you, today, a stranger on the train, reminding me of who you used to be, from the part of the hair to the shape of the hands and the colour of the coat, she was like a memory manifest of those late days, when you and I knew we knew each other, but pretended to be strangers nonetheless. Before you changed completely. I hoped, as I was pushed too close to the other people on the train that she would look up and I would see you staring out into the carriage mosh pit, eyes dull and bored until you caught sight of me. But alas, a stupid hope. I knew it wasn't you, even though I didn't see her face at all to confirm it for me. There are some things you just know, as inherently as you know death. Because all things die in their time - even friendships. The two which became one disentangled once again.

Monday, September 5, 2011

The Influence of Waves

What are these thoughts which lap against the shore of my tired mind?  Gentle, but insistent, they change the pattern of the sand, the pattern of my thoughts, and I am unsure whether I can obey these new ideas. I put my hand to my head, hoping to draw them all out, to rid my brain of their chaotic influence, but the more I try, the more I fall into the blue. My soul is crying out; I'm sure I can hear it above the noise of waves, above the sobbing of my heart - the same sorrow as that of the great African beasts when they lose someone dear to them - mournful, helpless - but can I follow it in earnest? It wants to lead me to passion, to love, but it may lead me away from security. The choice, therefore, is this: do I follow passion, or do I place more value on security?

Skyscrapers and Words

I see it in my head, the way I want the story to be told, but it doesn't seem to be working out the way I have it scripted. Words never leave my mouth in the way I want them to, and the emotions in my heart are never the ones I wished they would be.

Some people reach for the stars and grab them, while others reach and reach and reach, and yet are never tall enough. How can a unit block compete with a skyscraper?

Saturday, September 3, 2011

Beyond the Boundaries

"What is this?" you ask, "the answer to a lonely heart?" It beats and struggles and in desperation tries to cling to the vestiges of a dying morality, but the greyfaced people bear down, judging with their blank eyes, and slowly the lonely heart succumbs; it's better to be lonely among other people after all, is it not? It's better to rest after a drawn out battle, it's better to resist the chaos of movement for the stasis of tranquility. Is it not? Isn't that what life is? - a search for something better.

It's a shame that we end up with something worse. Grey cannot replace colour, imitation cannot replace life and gazing cannot replace thinking. So, this lonely heart will beat once more, it will rise above the sea of normality, and it will find its place among the stars. Because happiness begins beyond the boundaries of the accepted.

Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Walking Through Water

This time around the words don't come so easily. It's like walking through water - possible, but difficult; each step I take brings me closer to the end, but it involves so much more effort, and the deeper I go, the harder it gets. Some day soon I'm going to end up underwater; I won't be able to breathe.

Somehow I'll find the fight in me to keep pushing through. If you walk enough, eventually you'll find your way out. Otherwise I'll be lost, and no one will mourn the disappearance.

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Pocket Full of Dreams

 I've got a pocket full of dreams. You'd better believe that I'm going to make them come true. I face the mundaneness of life for the moment, with its repetitious architecture, its facades which are all the same, and I tell myself that I'm going to walk to a different beat, and be damn proud that I do.

I might not be like everyone else, normality might not be my forte, but who wants normality anyway?

Monday, August 29, 2011

Finding Life

I got lost somewhere between my dreams and reality and now I'm fated to wander between places, never reaching a destination. Nowhere feels like home, nowhere feels like a goal, and everywhere feels like somewhere I have been. Taking steps forwards isn't always the right answer, but walking backwards is worse. I ought to try stepping sideways, out of line of the overly trodden path and onto virgin earth, pure and undisturbed. It is there that perhaps I'll find something solid to hold on to and a dream to have and a past to have lived. Outside my boundaries I'll find life.

Friday, August 26, 2011

The Eyes Which Pretend Not to Stare

The wing of a vague thought brushes my mind, soft as a butterfly's wing, fleeting as the flicker of light from a candle, and unsure, I let it pass. The midnight hour approaches, and all that was forgotten in the light of day creeps back into mind, taunting the imagination, inviting you to indulge, and I can't help but wonder whether I am making a mistake in trying to forget, or making a mistake in trying to remember. Dark ringed eyes will stare into me behind my closed eyelids tonight. My mind will tick over, wondering. I will fall asleep no closer to an answer.

Intertwining Balance

You're not here, but somewhere far away, in a land where the sun never stops shining, and Luck leads you by the hand to wherever you want to be. It's a little strange, don't you think, that you're all the way over there, and I'm still stuck here, watching you take on the world and win. It's like looking through a glass, seeing another world, golden and beautiful, and knowing that you can never set foot there, that you can never touch it.

At times, I think it would be wonderful to have you walk through the garden of my side of existence, but you and I both know that you couldn't belong here; you'd be a beautiful bird held captive in a rusty, lacklustre cage in a rundown house amidst a falling apart world, where the only thing to reflect your beauty would be the open azure sky, taunting you with the freedom you'd never had. It's better this way, that you and I walk on opposite sides of the balancing point; the universe needs someone as illustrious as you walking in the light, just as it needs someone like me to lurk in the shadows, a threat to anyone who dares besmirch your name.

We'll continue to grow this way - you the leader, taking the giant steps, and I following close behind, inspired, but unable to ever reach the same heights as you. I won't begrudge you this; in fact, I'll defend you with my last breath. We are the two trees, after all, planted side by side, with branches intertwining, but never touching. Together we've created an archway for people from my world into yours.

Thursday, August 25, 2011

Lost Time

I needed the time. That's my only excuse. Why did the time I have slip away so quickly? Now I'm too tired to try anymore.

Maybe I should just let it go. Nothing is significant in the big picture anyway.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

Edge of Reality

Are we awake, or do we dream, unaware of our own reality? Those walls we built, woven from elaborate fantasies stand between us and the rest of the world when we balance on the point of consciousness, teetering to either side, but when we come to, do we always return to live with the rest of humankind, or do we lock ourselves behind the doors of our dreams?

Some of us can't face the day, some of us are afraid of being swept into non-existence by the thoughts of millions of other people, so drastically different from our own. Clinging to our dreams, with only one foot on the edge of reality to anchor us, we try to keep ourselves, to not be lost to the herd, to the mass conformity called Society. Others stare at us, wondering why we keep so far from them, labelling us in their minds as freaks, unknowing that we are like them in every way except for one and that is that we make our decisions based on ourselves, not on accepted normality. We hold on to our dreams because they are the only things which tether us to sanity, and in the world we inhabit, sanity is valued above individuality. We hold on to our dreams because that's where we feel safe and whole - not like the ghosts we've become, who tread in the fringes of what is accepted.

Monday, August 22, 2011

A Prolonged Winter

Do not think that I have forgotten those words which used to flow within me, bleeding from my pen across the paper. Sometimes I wonder where they have gone and why they have not made an appearance in so long, but upon thought, I realise that it is because I have not sat down to access them. They sit there still, within my veins, pushed along with every beat of my heart, waiting to be plucked out from my veins and scattered over the pages.

Do not think that my heart is a frozen wasteland, untouched by this new world where emotion is not so unwisely invested as it was before. In truth, the emotions are still there, biding their time until a situation arises and they are needed. There will be one in time, there is no doubt, but for now, the winter of my heart reigns supreme, staunching the flow of poetry and ornamental prose which used to glide so freely from me; like the skeletal trees framing the white sky, they are not dead, but full of life, simply awaiting the best time to burst again full into bloom.

Monday, August 8, 2011

The Almost Stranger, the Violinist and the Reminder

I saw her today, from somewhere not so far away, and my heart didn't bother to do a leap or two. My stomach didn't turn, my cheeks didn't flush and I wasn't inclined to run or scream or flail. I noted her presence, turned the page and continued to draw the scenery. I have no idea whether she ever saw me upon that knoll, sketching away in pen. She got on the bus with the rest of the throng and it sped away, leaving behind an empty sidewalk.

But the memory of her remained; memories of times when we were more than just strangers. Later I saw a violinist, the passion for his music etched into the lines of his face as his bow sawed across the strings. In the tunnel he played, his melody cutting into my heart, above the noise of hundred people walking by, a melancholy reminder of all the things which used to be. It could have been heartbreaking, it could have been sorrowful, it could have been disheartening; but it wasn't. The music reminded me that I am who I am because of the people I used to know and it told me that I ought to hold my head up high and keep those memories with me, so that I may remember where I have been and remember where I am going. I don't know where she is going, but I know where I want to be, so I will keep her and that violinist and his music which echoed through the tunnel with me always - an inspiration to push on.

Saturday, August 6, 2011

The Marionette and the Puppeteer

You unconsciously rise in my mind from time to time, unbidden and unwelcome. I feel that I owe it to myself to be better than you, like there's some competition being run and I must be in the lead. I simply cannot let that go, and for that reason, you and I are still tied. You are still the puppeteer and I am yet the marionette. Tell me, when do I become my own person? When do you disappear?

I don't want these feelings. This freedom from you is an illusion; the memories and thoughts of you are still my cage. Strange, isn't it? But I do not often think of you, but just know that when I do, I don't regret our past. The only thing I want is to be better than anything you could ever be. You may still pull the strings, but that is only because your actions inspire me to work harder, and I, the marionette, act against you. Never fear, one day the master will become the apprentice, and on that day, I shall be somewhere you could never reach, somewhere high above you. One day, you'll wish you were me. I promise you that today, certain to hold true; you'll remember that I do not break my promises.

Friday, July 29, 2011

Untapped Potential

Isn't it a shame that we don't even scratch the surface of our potential? There is so much we can do, so much we can become, and yet, we sit stagnant our entire lives, not bothering to grow; we're like flower buds which begin to blossom, but stop ourselves before we burst into full bloom. Our true beauty, our true nature, and our true potential are all erased by strokes made with our own hands. Are we too afraid? Or are we too lazy? Or do we not even consider the possibility that we could be so much more than we are?

I want to change that; I want to grow. I want to be as amazing as I can possibly be in one lifetime. What about you?

Thursday, July 28, 2011

My Suicide

I wander now from thought to thought in my head, stepping from one to another as seamlessly as changing breaths. It's the only natural thing I know. Some I bound to, embracing them like they are the elixir of life. Others I dodge, weave around and avoid because they're memories I don't want to face, truths I don't want to know, or people I don't want to remember. But they creep up, silent as death, and I crash right into them, obstacles which appear too late to avoid from out of the fog. Most I wish to never see again; their silver shadows I keep trying to leave behind.

I committed suicide, of sorts. I tried to kill my past and all the people in it. I tried to purge my life of them all, those friends I never really cared much about, and even those who meant the world to me. For a time I thought clinging to them would stop me from drowning, but one day, I realised they were the reason I was drowning. They suffocated me because I was not like them; I was content to be outside of normal social parameters, but they kept trying to stuff me back in. They didn't know they were doing it, but they were. So I gave them all up, all you people who cared about yourselves. A clean break. Well, as clean a break as you can have in this society of non-existent privacy.

I created a world where I can be left alone with pen and a notebook of blank paper, words and thoughts and sketches streaming from the pen, bleeding ink across the pages which absorb my very essence. Those I hold more dear to me than any man, woman or child, and such it will always be. They contain those thoughts I drift through, the dreams which haunt my sleep, the hopes which brighten my waking hours, and the emotions I hold inside. Splashed across the paper are things far more interesting, wild and fantastical to me than any person will ever be. It may be a reclusive existence, but it is the perfect one for me. I don't regret my suicide.

Saturday, July 23, 2011

Those Who Inspire

You came in for the first time in a while, with your cute as a button nose and shy smile and gave me a soft "hello". I just wanted to say that I miss seeing you, even if we never talk. Inexplicably, you make me want to be better, in the way of an older sister, or mentor, so I'm going to try harder to be better, just so
I feel that I haven't let you down.

Friday, July 22, 2011

Beneath the Surface

For a second there, just a second, my head fell down from the clouds and shattered upon the ground. There my mind lay, splattered across the pavement, thoughts running in the rivulets of blood. For the first time, I could read them, the thoughts which hid beneath the surface, overrun by daydreams and fantasies. The truth surprised me.

It turns out, I'm not ready, like I always thought I was. I still want it, I still need it, but I'm not ready. That realisation terrifies me.

Sunday, July 17, 2011


Life's a celebration and we should all be thankful that we have a chance to attend. Make the most of it. All that time you spend hating someone could be spent loving them, forging ties and having more fun than you thought was possible. Don't waste the chance given to you, otherwise you're going to get to the end of it and wonder where the hell it all went. So sing an epic song, dance like your life depends on it, and laugh like you don't have to breathe.

The Errant

I used to be discontent, you know, drifting around like I was a leaf caught on an errant breeze. I used to think that I wanted to be settled, that I wanted to find someplace where I could rest. I used to feel out of place with you people, like I was too weird to be with you, like I was forced to the outskirts, to the shadows just because I wasn't really like you. I used to think that there was something wrong with me, with the way I acted. I used to think that I felt out of place because of my attitude, but actually, my attitude was a reaction to your actions. I used to think that it was I who was in the wrong. I know better now. I just thought you should know that.

Thursday, July 7, 2011

Memento Mori

The distant memory of an ancient past drifts to me on the vague mists of imagination and remind me of a time that might have been. In return I hunger for such times, immemorial, dead, disrespected; a whole history wiped away and all but forgotten by the collective consciousness, except as foggy dreams and disillusioned legends. They were important once, the most important thing in existence, and the foresight that one day it would not be did not exist, much as our society is now. But if such ancient civilisations could fall, if whole cultures and people could be erased almost entirely from modern memory, then it goes to stand that one day we too shall be nothing but forgotten thoughts, ancient ancestors whose bloodlines are no longer traceable, and even with our modern disposition to meticulously record everything, from past, present and hoped for future, all that too shall disappear. Such is the working of time. And no mortal can stop it; neither you nor I, nor our children, nor our children's children, nor even their offspring. They will continue to reproduce, and we will continue to melt into the shadows of the past until one day we have become little more than dust, the soil from which our distant descendants reap their produce, without a single thought to their long dead relatives from which their families were sprung. Will it not be so? Are we not the same? Life goes on and death stops for no one.

Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Sadistic Pleasure

Are you scared of me still? Does my name make you tremble?
I hope so. I want to leave this world knowing that at one time in my life someone was absolutely terrified of me. It might not be because of my actions, it might not be because of my words, but I'd be happy knowing that the thought of my presence again in your life sends you into nervous fits. God knows I've sent you spiralling into panic attacks in the past, but this time I want you to panic at just the thought of having to see me again.

I saw what you did there, playing indecisive until I made my own decision. Don't think that I'm stupid enough not to know what's going on. I get a satisfaction from it, truth be told. I like knowing that you don't want to see me again. It tells me that you're too scared to face me.
Personally, it's not your presence which deters me, but the presence of others. I spent too long being the one forgotten in the corner, so tell me, why would I go to see such 'friends' again? Not worth my while, wouldn't you say? Not worth the effort. I have others now who don't make me feel that way. I'd say I'm better off. I'm better off without you, and mostly, I'm better off without them. Life ain't so bad now, you know, with you lot purged from my life. Remember those days of depression I had, sinking down into some indefinable misery? I don't have those days anymore. Funny, isn't it? Doesn't that tell you something? Tells me something.

I don't regret anything, not anymore, not now that I see that I am where I am because all of that happened and that here is better that there was ever going to be. But that doesn't stop me wanting you to be terrified. That doesn't stop me from smiling because I know you are. The Coward and the Sadist, that's who we really were all the while, isn't it? Funny how the roles reversed quite often, isn't it?

Thursday, June 23, 2011

A Different Crop

I used to miss you so bad. I used to think back over hot summer days, and the freezing winter ones, spend lying on the grass, gazing into the blue, blue sky. I used to miss the way you laughed, and especially your gorgeous smile. I used to miss our conversations, the way we seemed to be able to talk about anything with honesty. I used to miss not having you around.

But then I grew up. High school days are but a distant memory now, those people ghosts, shadows which sometimes flit across the expanse of memory, and then melt again into the greyness of distance - Time's signature for forgotten souls. I knew you would become one of them. You said otherwise, but I knew. It's because I know me, and I used to know you. We weren't the type to cultivate something when it grew out of reach. And we have grown in different directions now, have we not? Still, I feel that I could bend in the breeze and touch you, bringing you back into the life from which you have not completely disappeared, but I'm not sure I want to. We were what we were, but I don't miss you anymore.

Monday, June 20, 2011

Both Here and There, but mostly There

Well, excuse me, I'm sorry, but did you know that you haunt my dreams? It's not very polite of you, you know, strolling through my mind every night, as though it were within your rights to invade my most private moments. It's unfair to me that I should wake up each day, the late morning light blocked out by my thick curtains, and wish in the artificial darkness that I was waking up next to you.

Your face chases my thoughts throughout the day, flitting in and out of sight, frustrating me that I cannot reach out and touch you; you're so far away, but with me always. You have a beauty in you which makes me want to be better, to strive for something, to make you proud; but you'd never know, looking at me, how impassioned you've made me. It's a gift of yours. I wonder if it's only particular to me - somehow, I doubt it.

Just so you know, you're welcome in my head, you're allowed to walk through my dreams; I'd rather have you that way than not at all. My head may be lost in the clouds, but feet are firmly planted on the ground.

Friday, June 17, 2011

The Ignited Soul

You don't think I can do it, but I know better. I know what drives me, and I know that determination writhes within me, pushing at my chest and threatening to break through and take me over. But I hold it back; there is a difference between determined and reckless. But you'll see, one day I shall prove you wrong. I'll make you doubt yourself from that moment forth.

Tuesday, June 14, 2011


Will someone please tell me, when does the misery end?

Friday, June 10, 2011

Promises Made To Be Kept

I wish it to be true. Every day another opportunity passes and though I wish it wasn't so, those times are gone. I look back over them and wonder, and I hope. I know I pretend that I'm not interested, but I confess it's because I don't know which words to say, which emotions to show. I need to try to balance between coming off as freindly, and overly friendly; I'm not sure how, so I come across as aloof. I'm sorry. I want it to be different.

Seeing you is a combination of a sunny day, and have a cloud which rains only on me. I love your smile, but I hate that I can't compliment it. I love the way you stare, but can't meet your gaze. I love the way you play with your hair, but hate that I can't reach out and grab your hand to keep you from fidgeting. I love your fidgeting, but I'd love your hand in mine more.

Somehow I lost my heart to you without you even having to say a word to me. That's not fair, you know? But I suppose, as the saying goes "all's fair in love and war." Not that this is love. Not yet. I don't know if I could love you without knowing you a little more, but it's damn strong at the moment, whatever this is.

All I want to know is if there is something for you too in those glimpses you get of me, walking past one another in and out of the room, passing each other in hallways and tunnels, each of us heading in our own direction. I want to know if there's anything there when I catch your eye for the briefest fraction of a second. Was there anything there when we talked a little? Do you find the conversations you overhear of mine entertaining? Could I have wooed you without having to speak directly to you?

If we're being honest, I feel that I am out of your class. Beside you I feel too rough, unrefined, dorky, too much like an immature child. I wonder if any of that appeals to you. My sense of humour can be crass sometimes, but if can make you laugh, I'll be happy for all eternity. As long as I'm not just 'that idiot' to you.

I wonder what you think of me, every time I stand beside you in the elevator (how is it we always end up in the same one?). Do you even think of me? Did your soft spoken well wishes apply to me also?

Perhaps I'll be lucky next time. Perhaps we'll say something to one another. Perhaps I'll know for sure. I can hope until then can I not? This is one of those times I wish I was braver. Or more poetic; somehow I believe you appreciate poetics, ever since you made that comment about reading in bookstores. I wish I could know; I want to shower you with romance. It may surprise you, but I have a romantic soul, above all else. I just haven't had a chance to share it with anyone yet, so no one really knows. I want to share it with you. I think you'd appreciate it more than most other people I've met in my life.

I promise I'll embarrass you with all the silly things I'll do, which you'll forgive me for because they're also romantic. I promise I'd sing you love songs on the spur of the moment, whether we're walking down the street, sitting in a cafe, or riding in the elevators where we seem to meet so much. I promise to take you on dates to fancy restaurants (on weekdays because you work weekends), but also on dates to parks, where we could climb the trees and recline in the branches, talking till the sun sets behind the horizon. I promise I'd visit you at work, and distract you from all the guys who are trying to hit on you from across the bar. I promise I'd hug you whenever I saw you, and keep you close. I promise I'd kiss you, even if we got stares. I promise I'd spontaneously grab your hand and drag you out on a date. I promise I'd find that spot you loved to be kissed, and proceed to kiss it at every given opportunity. I promise I'd read to you, poetry, novels, histories, scientific journals, if you so wished, anything to keep you happy. I promise I'd try to cook for you, but be warned I'm not the world's best chef. And I promise I'd make you my priority over everything else.

Those are promises made to be kept. I don't know whether you'll take me up on the offer. Just so you know, if you don't, someone else will. Eventually. I may have to wait years, but someone will. But right now, I wish it was you who'd take me up on them. I wish there was something behind those quick glances, every now and then.

Wednesday, June 8, 2011

A Familar Face

Unexpected faces in familiar places - do you remember me? Half smile among the stacks - an acknowledgment, or some private joke within your mind? You may change the colour of your hair, but that won't make me mistake you for someone else. I know that smile, I know those eyes, the same now as they were then. I hope you do well, whether that half smile was for me or not. The past is the past and we were never going to be anything other than passersby in one another's lives, even if we have a whole city and still manage to find one another.

Monday, May 30, 2011

The Set Heart

Don't you worry about me too much; one day you won't see me again. I'll be off, somewhere else, living the life I've always wanted. I'll be embraced by tall buildings, enveloped by thriving life, participating in the rush and filling my heart with content. I may be alone, but alone is what I want; cutting ties is the only way for me to get there, I hope you understand. Even if you don't, I'm still going.

I didn't always want to go there, be another ant in the anthole of a concrete city, but it's grown on me. I've romanticised it for sure, but the fact that reality is going to be harsher than I dreamed is not a deterrent, quite the contrary, in fact. No matter the struggle, the city lights will always be there to guide the way. The longing for the place has settled in my heart, hooking itself into my ventricles and letting the pumping muscle grow over it, so much so, that it is now as much a part of me as my blood, as the cells which create me. It's not leaving easily; the only way to satisfy this longing is to give in to it.

I ask only one thing of you, despite not having any right to ask anything at all and that is, don't follow me. I don't want you there. That's why I'm leaving. You don't have to understand. Just don't follow.

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Just a Dream

Well I'm allowed to dream aren't I? I'm allowed to hope, aren't I? I'm allowed to wish for something I know is never going to come true. It might break my heart to invest so much emotion in the impossible, and it might make me long for something I don't deserve, but I'll do it anyway. No one ever need know. There's a certain comfort in a dream, the way there's a certain comfort for you when you twirl your hair around your fingers and I catch you out of the corner of my eye and smile just a little bit, knowing you're just a dream. Wishing you could be more.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Ray of Sunshine

Things sometimes seem so broken, so lost; a repetitive cycle turning around and around and around without a break. Did you ever think that perhaps it was time for a ray of sunshine into this broken life? We aren't held here because of want, or need, but because you won't let us go. I want to be let go.

So I'm letting you go. Fly, I don't want to see you here again. I found something in me, a want, a longing which has been felt before, but directed in different areas; this time it's possible to fulfill the yearning, I just have to let you go. It's time you found your way to the door and left my life; you offered me a challenge, and I'm picking up the gauntlet.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Recurring Suspicions

You know, this isn't the first time such thoughts have spun through my head; they keep coming back, spinning around and around, like some dizzying merry-go-round. I escape them for a while, and I think "maybe this time it's for good," but they always return.

Rationality says "no, this can't be true, you're imagining things again," and maybe Rationality is right. But a sinister little voice cuts in and whispers vile contradictions in my ear. I almost side with that voice; it seems to have some evidence, even if it's tenuous. After all, I can't have imagined your eyes flickering over to me; surely I can't just be looking up every time you're looking over? And I'm sure you were staring and that's what caused me to look up from my book and catch you looking at me again. I'm not sure what those glances entail, but I would like to find out.

And how is it that we always end up sitting opposite each other? Coincidence? Because I can tell you now that I do not choose my seating position relative to yours. How about you? But perhaps that would explain why my eyes naturally seek you; you're always there. Also, I'm curious about you and your own glances in my direction.

I'm sure there's nothing to this. I'm sure it's mostly my imagination playing me and making links and filling the gaps in incorrectly. I'm sure I'm wrong. But. What if I'm right? What if all those looks and those tiny things from previous weeks actually mean something?

Well, I suppose it doesn't matter. People keep too much to themselves; I doubt this case would be an exception. Society isn't as openminded as it thinks it is, after all.

Saturday, May 14, 2011

Wings Won't Stop Beating

All I want is to make you sorry. I want you to regret it, to regret this. I want to be everything you want to be, but more; better, more successful and everything unattainable by you. Revenge is such a strong motivation. Who knew?

One day I'll be sitting at the top of the mountain, seeing all the little people down below. I'll look down its steep sides, the ones I had to climb all on my own, and I'll flex my hands, so the scars upon them stretch and remind me that I am where I am because I put in the effort. I'll see you somewhere down the bottom, struggling, because really, you couldn't do it. We both knew you wouldn't be able to get out of your little security bubble; you were too afraid of getting hurt, of losing it all. Well here's the thing: you can't gain anything if you aren't prepared to risk everything. And when I'm at the top, and you're still scrambling down the bottom I'll yell down to you "these wings wouldn't stop working for anybody." You'll look up, and you'll hate me and I won't even mind, because I got there because you wanted to be there and because you broke me. If you hadn't, I wouldn't have bothered. I suppose I'll have to give you a thank you along the way, but don't expect me to throw you a line, not unless you're really sorry first.

So stay out of my way. You know I'm going to be better at it anyway.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Watching and Waiting

I follow the trail of your life with breathless expectancy. I watch and I wait, watch and wait, and hope for you, every time thinking "maybe this time," but nothing has happened yet. Your life still remains unresolved, you still hide behind your facade and none, save one, has seen the walls come down. I'm waiting for them all see your defenses fall. Not because I wish you the pain or the humiliation it might bring, but because I believe your happiness lies over that boundary between your facade and your true self. I hope that you realise that the only person who matters has already seen the true you, and they defend you and they want the best for you, but they can't do for you what you must do for yourself. And they can't wait forever either. You might want to think about that the next time you think you can't say what you long to say. And I'll sit there and watch and hope that this time, the words will flow and weave your story in the air so that everyone will know. Your fortress will fall, but you'll finally feel the sun.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Winter of Silence

If I lay out all the pictures of you and me, would I be able to see the gulfs between our souls? If I'd looked close enough, would I have seen the best of times flying by? We hardly explored every facet of our relationship, but I think I like it better this way; what we had was good enough. I always knew the energy would fizzle out into only the occasional bit of movement. Our laughter's gone into hibernation, and our conversation has retreated into the back of the deepest cave, waiting for this winter of silence to end. Sometimes there are signs of life, but they quickly realise that spring has not yet arrived, and so dejectedly put their heads back down and drift back into sleep. The odd thing is, I'm content to live in this sort of winter - a little lonely, but not altogether cold; the silence a recuperating one, rather than an imprisoning one. I guess it's true when they say "out of sight, out of mind" and while it's a little sad, I'm sure we'll find the time to let spring appear on our doorsteps once again.

But I just want you to know that I haven't forgotten, I just haven't had the time. Those photos still mean the world, laid out in an artistic fashion, and the memories still bring smiles. The time's not yet come for tears. I just needed a little time for me.

Friday, May 6, 2011

Lessons to be Learned

Why is it so hard for you to back off? Why is it so hard for you to see that you're not wanted around? Why do you insist on doing exactly what we don't want you to?

You think you're always right, but no, you're not. You state your opinion as fact, but here's a fact for you, it's not. You think you have the right to intimidate people, but you don't. You think that you have the right to get angry when someone tells you not to touch them, well guess fucking what, you don't have that right. Maybe, just maybe you should start learning to respect the world and the people in it, and then maybe, just maybe, something in your low, acrid, meaningless life will go right for you. You're poisonous, and that is all your own doing. Then you wonder why we can't stand you.

Wednesday, May 4, 2011

Seasons of Change

Sometimes something strange happens; there's an almost imperceptible shift in the air, in the organs inside you, in the blood cells in your veins - a miniscule change, like something snapping, or falling into place. It's normally nothing dramatic, just another moment in an ordinary day, which only when you look back reveals itself as extraordinary, a turning point in your life. Sometimes, you may not even remember what you were doing in that moment, but remember the feeling of it, the way that you looked up from what you were doing and suddenly felt a tiny bit different, as though something else was inhabiting your skin as well as yourself; or as though something left through it.

You can't tell straight away what it is that had changed, but you knew there was something not quite right. Or maybe, not quite wrong anymore. It's only when you look at certain places, or at certain objects, or hear certain people's names or smell certain scents, and nothing traumatic comes rushing back, no intense feelings, that you realise what it is. You realise that you're ok now, that you truly have moved on. You walk back through your memory and though there is a certain nostalgia, it's not painful, and you no longer fervently wish yourself back to happier days; you realise that these are happier days. You let the memories of recent times surface and you pinpoint that one moment where it all changed - the moment you truly began a new chapter in the book of your life. So with your new leaf turned over, you go forth. Things are never the same again, but thinking about it, you don't want them to be.

Monday, May 2, 2011

Thrill Seeker

Why do you entice me only to leave me so unsatisfied? You know it isn't fair. You don't answer the questions you promised to, you don't deliver the things you'd said, and still I follow because I want to know what happens next. You whet our appetite and leave us craving more, but it's time you started showing that our trust wasn't unfounded; if you give an entrée, you have to deliver a meal. And I know you tease because you know I'll follow; the road ahead is dark, but I know yours are the only lights, though false others will try to lead us astray like the fabled will o' the wisp. So although you'll pull me high only to drop me down, and make me feel safe, only to terrify me at the next turn, I'll follow and I'll watch, only because the thrill is so addictive.

Saturday, April 30, 2011

The Music We Hear

You inspire me. I know it's not much, coming from me, someone who is no one, but I thought it imperative that I tell you anyway. So there you go; you inspire me. Thank you. Just keep what at what you're doing. It's making a difference in the world. Some people get annoyed, but don't let them get you down. You don't need to change the lives of the masses to prove that you're doing something worthwhile; you're changing the lives of individuals, and that is far more important. It may be in different ways, you might be helping them through different issues, but in the end, the fact remains that you, not anyone else, you, are helping them. You inspire people to have more confidence, to see that who they are is ok, whether they're outside the mainstream or not. You're teaching us all to come to terms with being ourselves and to love ourselves. Seeing you resolve issues is helping us resolve ours too. So thank you, really, thank you. I mean it from the depths of my heart. You mean something in the world.

Friday, April 29, 2011

At the Crossroads

I think I've been trying to go in the wrong direction. What I'm doing now should be a hobby, not a career. It doesn't make me as happy as other things, I should follow those things which make me happy, which give me confidence. Isn't that right? I wasn't born to slave away over things which bring me no pleasure. I was created for something different. I realise that now. I may not have all the skills for the right path, but skills can be learned. It's the euphoria you have to follow, no matter the cost. I can see myself there, years from now, still loving it, but not here where I am. The music seems to be my calling. But how do I respond? We're at the crossroads now. I can't make a decision which is going to haunt me for the rest of my life. No regret, that's the aim. I fear failure, but that shouldn't stop me, not this time. Life begins at the end of your comfort zone after all.

Tuesday, April 26, 2011


Can I remind you of something? The world's a messy place. It drips with poison, it crawls with bacteria, it overflows with grim and dirt, but that's what makes it so amazing. The best experiences aren't to be found in the refined places, with people pristinely dressed, they're found out there, beyond the door, beyond your comfort zone, beyond the city limits. Go out there and find those places. Explore different places, explore different people. And always remember what you learnt and what you saw. The world's a messy place, so go be messy with it.

Saturday, April 23, 2011

The Stars Beneath The Sky

We fell out of the sky. Can't you feel it? We did, I swear it. And all the things we build, all the towers of metal and glass which try to touch the sky, they're just our way of trying to get back home. And we stole our voices from the angels, that's why we never hear from them, and why we raise our voice in song; we hope that someone will hear and that we'll be taken back into the home we left behind. And when we die, we try to return to that place; that's why we scatter our ashes to the wind. We try to make sense of the chaos, so everything's orderly, but if you look close enough, from the sky, the lights on the ground look like the stars.

Heaven and Beyond

Creeping, slowly, crawling up your back, the shiver you can't suppress. Sudden, tight clenching of all your body's muscles. You stiffen, not knowing what should come next. You know where you want to go, you know what you want to do, but you don't know how to get there, don't even know who to ask. You have to keep your voice from rising into a shout, though it claws its way up your throat and your tongue works to have it out. You want them to know your passion, you want them to know you're more than some automaton. You need to have it out; it's like breathing to you - go for too long without that expression and you die. Your emotions run off without you and you're left an empty corpse, listless and overlooked. So we can't let that happen. We have to get you a stage. We have to let you soar the way the cathedral's spire soar - to heaven.

Thursday, April 21, 2011


You know what? I've learnt what it's all about. This feeling which settles on me, this yearning for something else, for someone, it's not about one someone. It's about finding a group. It's about finding acceptance for who I am and being loved for it. It's about being a part of something bigger. We've all got something to die for, but how about something to live for? That's what it is - it's about finding something to live for, something to fight for. It's about a common thread which binds you to others, tied so tightly that absolutely nothing can break it; not force, not grief, not the worst of humanity. And you know why? It's because it will bring out the best of humanity in you. It will make you a better person. That's what this is all about. For so long I thought that empty space was meant to be filled with someone, that one person who was going to come along and make it all better. But that's wrong. There is no one person; collapsing into someone's arms is not going to make all the problems go away, it's probably just going to create new ones. The truth is, that empty space can only be filled by myself, but only when I've found the happiness through belonging to a group who are just like me; or not like me, but people that I'm inexplicably bound to, no matter what. I have to bring that happiness upon myself, but that's only going to happen when I can find myself, that true self of mine who will allow me to fill myself with that happiness. And it's out there, I can feel it, like I could stumble upon it around the next corner. I just have to be brave enough to take up the challenge, to step outside my bounds and really let myself grow into that happiness. Maybe it sounds stupid. Maybe I'm wrong. But I doubt it; some things you just know. I know that there is something I'm passionate about, and I know that somewhere there are people passionate about the same thing, and that we'll somehow be mystically drawn to one another, and we'll bond, and we'll create a force to be reckoned with. We'll probably be both fragile and invulnerable all at the same time, but we'll get through anything that life has to throw at us because we'll always have each other. I know it's not going to happen while I just sit around and wish -  I'm going to need to take action. But it's close now, I can feel it. There's finally a sense of optimism in the air.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Lost and Found

Maybe we think we know where we're going, but we don't. Maybe it's all just an illusion. Maybe we think we're crossing seas when really we're crossing deserts. I don't really know. What do you think? What if all you think you knew was wrong? What if it was a lie? What if it was just a fantasy? Where does that leave us?

Maybe the problem is that we aren't lost enough. After all, you have to be lost to be found.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Polar Opposites

The calm of the sea, the fury of a storm, the tremor of a leaf, the warmth of sunlight. So many opposite things intertwining, though they do not occur simultaneously. They are opposing forces, they tug at one another, they push at one another, they fight, they grate, they bleed, they scar, they weep, and yet, they coexist within the one form. How could something or someone be pulled in two polar directions at the same time? How do they survive it?

I don't know if I can tell you, but I can tell you that I live with that everyday. One force bursts out, taking over, then looping back in on itself, and then either explodes again, or implodes so that another force may take its place. It's almost bipolar, and once people see another side of you they've not seen before, they wonder if you're ok or whether something's wrong. But the truth is, you're just being you, the way you always have, and this is just another one of those facets of your personality, another force which rings through your body.

Thursday, April 14, 2011

A Sinking Ship

Things never quite turn out the way you think they will.

Monday, April 11, 2011

The Haze

There is not enough time in the day. It's been established so that morning flies by faster than you can blink, and afternoon arrives soon after, with sunset snapping at its heels. The night hours seem to last the longest, the darkness stretching on into infinity, but disappearing, seemingly, in seconds, for time melts away when you are unconscious. And all that time you spend sleeping could be used to do something else, but when tiredness weighs down your lids and nestles into your brain, it creates a barrier between your thoughts, between your synapses, and everything becomes covered in a haze too thick to see through. So you slip away into a place where thoughts don't follow and awake to regret that you don't have all done that needed to be done.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Follow Your Bliss

Sometimes we've all got to believe in something. What exists is better than what isn't there. And what makes you happy is the best thing to believe in of them all. It's all just a matter of finding what makes you happy.

Friday, April 8, 2011


I feel that I was meant for something else. Something better, maybe. Something bigger, definitely. But I'm stuck here, and I don't know how to reach that place I'm supposed to be.

How can I explain that no place feels like home? We all feel we have a home, a safe niche in the world where we can relax, unload our problems, and be who we truly are without fear of judgement or hate. But the house I've lived in almost all my life does not feel like home. It's a house which is just a house, and yes, there are memories there, but none happy. I don't laugh here. I get irritated, angry, caged, none of which is healthy.

Out in the world, I feel safer, freer, and yet, that is not home either. There is always a forcefulness and an awkwardness which makes me try to be someone other than who I am. I'd like to say that it makes me want to be better, but it doesn't, and I am not. I feel that I blend into the walls and I try harder to be amusing to compensate for that feeling. Somehow, I think that it makes me look like a fool, not someone who could be admired or liked. Maybe it's because I don't know who I am. Maybe that's because I've never had the security to just be myself, thus having had no opportunity to find out. But I can say one thing: there isn't anybody in the world who would put themselves on the line for me; no one would defend me if I needed defending, and no one would fight for me if I was too tired to lift my head. I feel sometimes that I am dead centre on the stage, but there is no light, no sound, and the only person in the audience is looking somewhere else, totally unaware of my existence. But I know I'm there, and I want to be known, and I want so bad to raise my voice, get the spotlight turned on and then trained on me while I stand there and make a difference to the space, to my life, to that one audience member's life.

So I can't be with people, that much I'll admit. I'm always trying to fill some other skin for them to be able to accept me. But though I'm more comfortable by myself sometimes, I cannot live my life completely on the fringes either. And I know it's an idealistic fantasy to think that I will meet one person who will change all that, yet I cannot help but believe, somewhere in my heart, beneath layers and layers of logic and cynicism that this will happen. This is the point where I've realised yet again that trying to fill some other person's expectations of me isn't enough, and at the same time, being myself when I'm alone isn't enough either. But I can't trust that they won't hurt me, nor that they will accept me for everything I am, nor can I expect to be happy when I sit alone between four walls, starting at a computer screen, or lost in the pages of a book, where everyone has a happy ending, or at least, moments of pure joy.

I've set so much store by the one person I seem to be waiting for, that I actually feel sorry for them for when they do come into my life. I'm going to offload all my problems to them and hope that they can make it better, and I know that's not the right thing to do. They are, in my head, the magical solution to cure my loneliness, my awkwardness, and will help me find myself and my place in the world. And if things happen for a reason, maybe that's the reason this person hasn't happened yet. Maybe I have to learn to be on my own first, and truly appreciate what it is to hold my own without the help of others, and only then will I find the person I've been looking for, because only then will I not take them for granted and tell them all my problems. To be a realist here, things don't happen the way you want them to. Life sucks and the only things we're able to do is make it better or worse for ourselves. I want this unknown person to make it all better, but I know that it's not up to them; it's up to me. But it would be nice to know that someone would be there and love me unconditionally while I go through the transit to find myself, even if they're not there at the end of it. Does such a person even exist? Maybe they'll be that one person in the audience when I finally find my voice, the one person who hears me when I sing. And maybe, after that, after all the struggle, I'll actually be able to find home. That's all I ever wanted anyway.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

The Proud Artist

For the first time in a while I've been able to look back at something which came from my own hands and be content. Proud, even. This is the closest thing I have to a talent. I may as well play on my strengths. I can only hope that others appreciate it as much as I do, for all they see is the final product, with no regard to all the hours of work which went into its making. But even if not, I am still proud of my work.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011


And then there's the downside. The wave crests over you, but you're in the wrong place and the weight of the water crashes down, tossing you around like you're nothing more than a rag doll, caught in its current. If you survive the beating, you arrive on the shore, broken like never before, and knowing that you'll have to face those waves once again. You know that you'll be lucky if you don't make it back next time. You'll know perfection is when the ocean cries "checkmate!" and smites you down.