The Ones That Never Stay

Good to know I scare you.

The Alone

I watch you from afar, and wish I could be with you. Instead, I'm here alone. Yet, you are alone too; what sits in your heart has left an imprint on your face. You keep the Loneliness too. And when I recognise the look, I want to wrap my arms around you and hold you close. I hope you'd do the same for me. Too much to wish, I suppose.

We both wish for something we can be proud of; some achievement, something to show. I try and try and have nothing; you at least have something, memories of adventure and travel and magnificence. But you're confused, as well as I; which way do our hearts lead? Which path do we follow? There's something in the way of all potential paths. Why were we chosen for such a sad existence? I'm afraid we can never tell. As a wise wizard once said, 'all we have to decide is what to do with the time given us,' though it is hard to do anything of significance when your soul is burdened by some shadowy darkness. If I could, I would turn the page, begin another story, but lives, I'm afraid are not so simple to restart. You cannot leave behind who you are and all the things that built you. You yourself tried, and found that you had to return.

But we shall find something, shall we not. After all, we cannot sit on our lonely bench and share the delightful view with no one forever. Sooner or later, someone must come sit beside us.

Shine

Some days you'll hear something, or see something, and it'll cause you to pull yourself up from your roots, straighten your back, and stand tall. It convinces you to be the very best person you can possibly be. It stirs in you the kindness, the beauty and the very best of yourself, which you've downtrodden over time, so it lies dormant in your chest. Once awake, it can fall back asleep very quickly, once awake is susceptible to corruption, but once awake, it can work. And you can live to the best you are capable of. You can be the beacon of hope that someone needs. You can shine. So do it. Shine.

Weight of the World

No I ain't much of a writer, nor much of a lover, it is true; though, I haven't had the chance to prove myself to you. I live out in the cold, in the wind and in the rain, and I cower from the dark, I cower from the pain. Yet everything I write, I dedicate to you, and everything I love, I'd sacrifice for you. You're the one who smokes the last cigarette while the vestiges of the day melt away.


No, you won't pause to buy my book, no you won't pause to take a second look. To you I'm just that small, and you stride by, feeling tall. Well I'll tell you something sir, you simply can't compare. No; to try, you wouldn't dare. You're too afraid of coming out of it feeling inferior; you're afraid of feeling like one of us. You're too afraid to see the sky from way down here, because from here you feel it all; the whole weight of the world.

Fine, don't turn around and see, don't learn what it is to be. Ma'am you may hurry along, but the world won't sing your song. It'll voice our praises, the ones you trod down, we, who one by one, you pushed out of town. No, ma'am I ain't an artist, but may I please take your likeness? I'll show the world your face, the one you're ashamed to wear.

While the dark chases you through your mind, you run and run, too afraid of what you'll find. Do you dream we'll sit in the corner and laugh at you,? Do think our voices will haunt you as you pass? Go on, run, your number's up; go on, run, you know that we'll catch up.

No, see, I ain't a poet; no, see, I ain't a painter; but now can you see, that doesn't mean I'm worthless. And if you try to make us feel otherwise, we'll rise against you; the whole world will rise against you. And you'll die, crushed under the weight of the world: the burden you made but the burden you couldn't bear. Next time you go to light your cigarette, we'll hold the flame. We'll set your world alight.

Turn the Page

Crescendo crashes down, and your world falls apart around you. Beat echoes in your head, the weeping guitar pours its notes into your head, your ears ring, and you disappear. Everything around you is obliterated, you're left in a totality, you're left in a darkness, you're left in a void between lives. You want to scream, you want it to stop, yet you don't want it to ever end.

There I go, left the spotlight, left the stage. Let you follow me into light. Let you follow me with eyes that don't miss a thing. Here I am. Do you see what you wanted to see? There I go, I'm walking once again. One time's not enough, you have to dog my steps again. Footsteps pad behind me, I look behind but can't see a thing. I'm paranoid, can't you tell?

And yet, when you're not there, I feel much too alone. I lie awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, thoughts running through my head. My conscience paces back and forth, like a tiger trapped in a cage; that trap you set for me. Next night it is the same thing, as each night it was before; can't be rid of the image, of the you I knew before.

In the evening I get up, I get out. I go where they expect me to stand, I go where you last saw me. I start a brand new song, about the same old thing. I drum a hell lot harder, I strum a hell lot faster, I scream a hell lot louder. Feel like I should explode. It's the cliché played over and over like a black and white film. And then I hear the silence. You aren't around any more.

Out there you're doing something new. In here, in this dark with its flickering spotlight, I play a show that no one sees, too taken by another; too taken by you. I can't remember what you said, I can't remember what I did. I miss the way you used to step behind, the way you used to make me fear. My heart beats, but it's because I can't sense you anymore. So I return each night, and I tell the same old story, be rid of all my energy, every last drop, so I might sleep again, the way I did before. Before the insomnia took hold, before I lost. If I play away my energy, maybe I'll play away my hate, play away my pain, and play away my emptiness. I don't feel like writing anymore, I don't feel like painting, just feel like playing it all away; won't you take it all away?

To Be Set In Pen

Every couple has a story, every friendship has a foundation. Though the flames of ours have long since been extinguished, I believe it is time to set our story in pen and let it circulate for the world to read, so that they may know the truth.

Through the Dark

This world is full of such dark and despairing places; where the walls are painted with heartache, where floors are awash with the blood from wounds which cannot heal and where the shadows are the ghosts of everyone who has ever hurt you. Everyone carries their own burden. Some never share it, some share it in secret, some scream it to the world, but no one ever listens. No one can help you except yourself, though they will try.

I read of them, those secrets whispered into the night, and am left shaking. I am ashamed of the darkness in this life. How has human suffering become so great? Once, there was nothing but thoughts of family, of needing to keep everyone together because that was the only way to survive. But now, everyone has become absorbed by their own lives, and they forget to look at the lives of other people, and offer them the help they need. There are the friends that nobody sees, there are the pains that no one knows about, there is the love that is never shown. We keep so much of the dark to ourselves; we are afraid to show our vulnerability, afraid to show how we've been wronged, because we fear that no one will care, and that we'll be left alone.

People have come from the lowest depths of darkness and risen to burn the brightest. We cannot say that we give up because the going gets tough. Within us all there is a strength that for some reason we have all grown accustomed to ignore. But the truth is, we can draw on it, wrap it around ourselves, and fight through all the suffering life may lay on us. Yet there are those who give up; those who kill themselves because they cannot see another way out, those to whom no help was offered, no love was shown, and no care was taken. And it is our fault.

But there should be a light. We should all become less selfish, we should look at those who need help more than we do, and we should extend our hand to them and pull them from the depths of their despair. It is our right as humans to have someone care, and it is our responsibility as human beings to care. If we don't, we cannot expect it of others. The greatest of human tragedy revolves around the same fears: that of being hurt, and that of being left completely alone. The stories may be different, but the core is always the same. We should promote understanding by reaching out to those who have suffered, we should accept those for their differences, and appreciate them for their imperfections. Above all, we should love, deeply and unconditionally, everyone we meet, for they all harbour some injustice. It's not impossible for everyone to have their own sunflower field. Take a second, look at that person you call your friend and for once, let the veil of deceit be lifted, and see their pain. The lonely will become loved, the hurt will become whole, and all shall have a chance at happiness.

Mesmerise the Soul

Stand on stage, hear the crowd scream your name, feel the call vibrate through your core, sending shivers up and down your spine. It's the obsession that defines your existence. Walk with the microphone in hand, the spotlight trained upon you as you stop at centre stage. Feel the heat of the light that burns down, illuminating the sweat that's formed in beads on your upper lip. Hear them roar in pleasure when the melody starts to play, the familiar strains that feel so far away, so strange, yet so well known.

Feel the collective intake of breath; sense that second of silence. Then as your voice find the words you've been searching for, the chorus begins and reminds you of what they are. Your own feelings sung back to you by those who have learnt them. In this world you thought no one would understand, none would care, or sympathise, but there they are, beneath the roof of the stars, moving you with the songs you wrote for someone else. You wanted them to know who you were, you wanted someone to hear. And they all heard, and they all understood, and they all wanted to be there with you.

Waves of emotion break over their heads, pulled from their bodies by the power of your music. You're more overwhelmed by the sheer force of those feelings than anyone in the crowd; a feeling of euphoria, mixed with something else, something sadder, the same emotion those memories always bring. Your soul pours forth and washes into every niche and corner of the room, leaving none untouched. You close your eyes and let it take you.

It lifts you from your body, and you feel connected to everything and everyone. They have all of you, all at once. You're vulnerable, but they fight the fears for you, you cry, but they weep with you; together you break through to emotions that you can't conceal while the music binds you together. You free fall into something amazing; you never want it to end.

With the music burning in your veins, and the emotions being wrenched from you, tearing your voice out so that it fills every heart, you feel invincible. And at the end of the night, you've created something that will never be forgotten and those people will go home and remember the way they connected in a way that perhaps they never will again. The intensity will have carved itself into their memories forever, ready to be recalled as one of the best moments in their lives. And you walk away from it all, knowing that you have done something worthy.

In The Details

 Everyday we pass billions of things, ordinary things which may not look like much, littering footpaths and cities and houses. We pass people, we pass places and still we don't look. I want to learn beauty; how to see it in everything, how to carry it with me always and how to never revert to walking through life with my eyes closed. Too many people walk as if they cannot see, and the truth is, they are deprived, for they miss things of great significance, little things which could make all the difference to their day, or to their lives.

Beauty isn't something you see once and then forget. Beauty is something you carry with you, something you create and emanate, leaving its essence on things you touch, on people you interact with. It's about more than just simply seeing something beautiful, it's about learning to see it in everything and everyone. It's not something you have to carefully create, it's not something you have to diligently seek out, it's just something you have to open your eyes to seeing. You have to slow down sometimes and simply look and see, instead of letting your eyes glaze over as you get absorbed into your own thoughts. Beauty is about existing.

The Same Coin

 The depth of my hate is only an indication of the capacity of my love. The heart loves more readily than it hates, unless something occurs to make it switch to the other emotion. Though truly, the dislike tries to hide the fact that I would rather love. It hides the fact that I would rather be indifferent.

There aren't many things you can do when you're walled in on all sides.

I'll Be Seeing You In Hell

Unfortunately we weren't born into a world of iron stomachs. We were born into a world of self mutilation, of beauty, and of the grotesque. A world in which all paths lead to hell. There's no escape, so I don't know why we bother trying. Either way I'm going to meet you there, even though I cannot bear the thought that I shall have to see you again. Even now, a glimpse of your face, a whiff of your ghost, and I spend days in uneasiness. Why does our world make it so hard to leave people behind?

It can hardly be called living if you have to pull yourself through the day, despite the pit that has formed in your navel, through which every last glimmer of happiness falls and is obliterated. You cannot proceed when with every step nausea washes over you in waves that drown, and you double over, clutching your stomach, muscles taut and breaths coming out in dry retches. That is truly the averse reaction you have on me. Then it's impossible to hold onto a sense of calm.

But I'll be seeing you again, unfortunately; remember it. I'll be seeing you in hell. And that shall be infinitely worse than what we suffer here.

The Pause

What do you do when you find yourself at the foot of a bridge in the middle of nowhere? Or at a foreign train station and you have no idea where next to go? Do you stand there and wait, unsure whether crossing the bridge might take you to somewhere you don't want to go, or whether the next train might take you to somewhere more beautiful than you could have expected? Do you go on, unsure whether you'll be able to turn back once you've started?

It's a crossroads, of sorts. To go left or to go right? Or perhaps, to stay and see if something happens to influence your decision? Either way, you feel it in your bones that your choice is one upon which the balance of your life temporarily teeters. You know that this could be the decision you regret for the rest of your life. Is uncertainty going to hold you back? It does for a moment, then a little bit longer while you try to make up your mind.

Did you cross that bridge to see what was on the other side? Was it better? Was it worse? Could you return from whence you came?
Did you grab life and let it lead you? Or did you let the last train pass you by?

La Musica

If I could have but one dream to live out for the rest of my life, it would be this: to fill the world with music. There are some things which cannot be said but can only be sung, and it should be my mission to scream those feelings out loud, bring the tears to the eyes of millions. It would be the only release in a world of pent up emotions; the only way through which all the churning anger and the burning passion can escape into the open. It's the only way society allows it to happen.

And you could hear it and weep, and sing along and understand. It would be a release for you too. In the end, the real reason we love music is because it expresses all the emotions we aren't allowed to feel.

The Lonely Are Alone

Screw you to hell. I don't need you. It's hard to believe that I'm giving up on everything, but the odds are, it'll get better. You simply can't love people who always shun you. One day you'll be treading the path to hell, and I'll be watching you suffer.

After all, the Lonely always end up being alone. But you want to know something? The lonely ways are always the most beautiful.

The Bone Weary

I'm so very, very tired. I'm tired of trying to believe that I'm part of a world that cares; I'm tired of being shown that they couldn't care less. I'm tired of being plagued by things I want to forget. I'm tired of living the way I always have; I'm tired of being overlooked and forgotten.

It's difficult to have faith in humanity when no one shows you that they care. They have all said that they do, but when the time comes and they have an opportunity to show it, they scatter, scampering away to their hiding places like birds taking flight in fright. You stand alone, watching as they leave you and wondering why they couldn't stay. Obviously some words mean nothing to people and some promises are only made to be broken. I stare at all that's shattered, the fragments catching the light from the floor and reflecting it so it dances across the ceiling of the prison that's been built especially for me. It's a prison with walls made of empty words, with doors made of the ghosts of people who said they'd care, and windows, especially barred so that you could forever look out onto what they were excluding you from. They've since dubbed the prison "Loneliness" and left me to its devices. I wonder if there are other inmates. I try to remember whether mine was a lifelong sentence.


But perhaps I am destined to be bound to something else for all eternity. For, how can one be rid of wounds that do not heal? In the dark they festered and refused to close. Now their poison has entered my blood, and I fear I am slowly dying. How remarkable that memories should inflict so much pain. How remarkable that ghosts seem so corporeal. Fear eats at me, that I might some day run into you when I'd much rather keep on walking. Thoughts of you are so saddening that they drown out any happiness we might have had. I tried so hard to cut the ties, but despite everything I have attempted, the chains will not loosen. Something keeps me tied to you, and I cannot comprehend what it is, but I would rather it vanish and leave me be. How did you drive yourself so deep into me that I cannot now remove you? Those shackles you put me in that keep me chained to the wall of my prison, chaff at my wrists and ankles and continually my blood seeps from the wounds they make - the wounds you inflicted. They weigh me down and hold me in fear, they keep me always restrained. It would seem that they've been dubbed "Regret".

Perhaps what's worse than those shackles and that prison is the cage my mind had created for me. It artfully created a mould and for so long I have grown accustomed to that position. But then I had eyes to see, and ears to hear and emotions to feel, and I see and hear and feel that this mould is not right for me anymore. Try though I might, it has started to grow around me and imprisoned, I cannot easily escape. It puts its hand upon my heart and at its touch my heart turns to lead and grows heavy within me. Sadness overflows from its depths and Happiness flows along the tidal wave of Sadness, tiny specks that drown and, leaving my heart, float away into oblivion. Despair soon arises and usurps the throne of Hope, enslaving me to its every whim. All I want is to change direction, to creep forward from the shadows of the stage to the edge of circle of light, to be seen a little more and appreciated for my minor role; to hear at least one person applauding for me. I won't ever be extroverted, but I'd like to at least be glimpsed every once in a while. My mould forbids me, and I believe it has been dubbed "Depression".  The chance of love seems so very far away and I cannot help but envy the sinners.

So you see, I'm very tired. Perhaps I shall just plonk myself down and wait until someone passes by and notices me sitting by the side of the road. Should they be the right person, they will ask "what's your damage?" then reach out their hands and pull me to my feet, helping me again along the beaten track; one comrade supporting another. They'll pull me until I can make it on my own, or else they'll help me across the finish line. It's only a matter of time. For each of what had bound me, I will plant a white willow and bury the chains within the ground so that the tree might obliterate it. And I would be free.

Hello, I Miss You Quite Terribly

Oh, it's been a long time - since last the sky was blue and the air was clear, since last the day was long and the night was dear. Spending time with those you want to hold close through eternity is worth more than spending a million days with those you care nothing for; especially when the rest of the world has forgotten you and you, faded into obscurity, melt into the shadows and become darkness. Sometimes when you feel alone, you really are...alone. Sometimes not a single person in existence wants to talk to you, not a single person even spares a thought. But sometimes, just sometimes, you're granted a chance to spend precious moments with those who love you and tell it to you through tight hugs and glowing smiles.

It will hurt you when those you thought cared turn out to ignore you as though you were some phantom who wafted through their life but never left as much of an impact as you'd thought. You may have spent years convinced that you were someone at least slightly important, but then in a second you can have that feeling revoked, and see it lie in tatters on the ground, bleeding into infinity. But then, it's ok; someone comes a-knocking and reminds you that it's not the case with everyone. It is in that moment that you discover who is loyal to the friendship you were dedicated to and who are those who would turn their back once communication has faded into something less than what it was.

I sat and was grateful, my gratitude overflowing the shallow basin of my heart and wrapping its tendrils around everyone in the room. I know that should I have asked you to meet me under the midnight moon, you would have joined me without hesitation. For others I cannot be so sure, and others yet I am certain would not turn up if their life depended on it. To those, I say that it's a shame, for I would have pulled them close in the dark and whispered "Hello, I miss you quite terribly." Then, had they not believed me, I would have followed with "some places are just too empty without you." But those empty places will remain empty, save for the ghosts of happier times, until someone else comes along and restores the light. Even then, the ghosts will still play, but they will respectfully retreat and leave us to creating another ghost to leave behind. All the while I'll be grateful for those who have kept me in their hearts.

Kaleidoscope

Some days it feels like we're transparent - mere skeletons, and the light shines right through us, but never on us. Some days it feels like we're part of a ghost army who took to arms long ago to fight an enemy we could never see and though we know we don't have to fight any more, we cannot let go of what we were trained to do. At some point we all became slaves to someone or something, and quite frankly, we didn't have to. Bone weary and yet we still cannot lay our weapons to rest.

If you sit in silence and smile, opening your heart and letting the whispers come to you, you'll hear the call of the wild, of colour, of freedom. They beckon, tease, plead; they want you to come with them and leave behind all the bad things that keep you bound. They whisper "do you dare?"

You don't have to know everything that will happen, you don't have to plan every step you take, just take them, just go along with whatever happens. You'll be surprised at how far you'll travel, how much more you'll understand. You'll fall off the path of reason and onto the path of adventure, the path of creativity and you'll find things you thought were long lost. You'll laugh and cry and hurt and love. The voices still call to you.

Let them in. They'll rush through your hair, through your soul, through your heart, and everywhere they go they'll clean the taint that holds you to all that is bad for you. The kaleidoscope refracts the colours, the ones that live within you but you'd forgotten all about, and even as they change, they sweep through you and bring a lightness of the spirit. All you have to do is believe. Let them explode within you, take over, and soon you'll see that things are better in the world than you had believed. They'll splatter all through your life, over everything within reach, and everywhere you step, they'll turn to light, they'll turn to rhyme. Your world with burn with poetry. 

Only one question remains: Do you dare?

Fortunes and Fates and Confessions

Well, what can I say? I think I'm a fool. I almost wish that you would wash yourself away from my memory and erase yourself from my heart, but I cannot. You see, I only met you the other day, but sometimes it's the people I meet just once who leave an impression on me that lasts months. You're one of them, but it's deeper than that; when I wished to see you again, miraculously, as though the universe had listened, you walked in again. I'm almost superstitious enough to believe it was fate, but then, you walked in with someone who I, perhaps stupidly, assumed to be your partner. I could be wrong. I hope so, because as much as I want to forget you, I want you to return so much more. I can't say what I want from you exactly, but I'll admit that I'm incredibly attracted to you. It's probably due to the fact that you were the first person to see me, rather than see through me, and also because you're ridiculously good looking and seemingly intelligent. In any case, I still hope, but now that hope is tempered by reality, despite the fact your face is a little more clearly etched into my memory. But I have to say it again: I wish that I could see you again. Think we can make it three times in four days? Maybe I'll find out your name next time around.

Oh, who am I kidding? I'm definitely superstitious enough to believe it was destiny. I don't know if a fortune teller could tell me whether we're meant to happen at all, but I'm willing to approach her, the mysterious woman wrapped in shawls, humming some strange melody, surrounded by a cloud of smoke from burning incense and ask whether we do have a chance. And hell, I know what I want to hear. The clock's ticking, the pendulum's swinging, and I'm holding my breath and praying, and trying to ignore the myriad of emotions that are running through me, chasing each other and drowning out my heart. My thoughts chatter away beside those emotions, and all in all, I'm afraid I'll miss my chance, if ever a chance there was. So please, come back; for the first time in my life, I truly know what I want.

Rivers and Boats

It always leads me to drift this way, along a branch of the river that's different from the ones that everyone else is drifting down. It's disheartening in some respects, because I lose what I hold dear, but at the same time, it's a comfort, a familiar place, where I'm on my own and don't have to think of the worries associated with other people. It's a lonely path, but that's something I've grown accustomed to, and even so, it's not always lonely; I cross paths with many streams and creeks, each bringing their own lot of people into my little river which cleaves its way through the countryside of Life. If you think about it, it's always been this way; me weaving my way in and out of your lives, but never a true part of them. After all, I was always the outsider, perhaps not because you made me, but because that's just how I felt. Never yet have I found people I felt truly in tune with.

I hope that that changes, that there are people whom I will find who are the same as I, who understand me, and who I have no reserves at being open with, and who I will never feel the compulsion to leave or drift, like I have with every single other person in my life. You know, when you walked in, I thought that perhaps you could be one of those people. It was as though something undefinable passed through me, caressing me and holding me, telling me that you could be someone ridiculously important to me. But then you turned around and walked away, even if reluctantly, or so it seemed to me. I do hope that you felt something similar and that you'll return sometime soon, because it would be nice to flow along the same river with someone, even if for a short while. For everyone else, I thank you for your time, but now I have to fight the urge to drift away, so perhaps it's time to let go of you all. We'll see, in any case; whatever will be will be. But I can always wish, and hope that those wishes steer my boat at least just a little bit: I don't want to be the lone tree on the bank of the river forever.

The Unexpected Rainbow

You were a welcome splash of sunshine in an otherwise dreary day. So far, I've gone from wanting to tell everyone to telling absolutely no one about seeing you. Bizarre, considering I only met you today, and I don't even know your name. But there we were, two souls drifting through the space of a bookstore, destined to meet over the counter and start a conversation about Tolkien, his work sitting there between us, beautifully bound in a bright red cover.

You caught my attention straight away. Shaggy black hair glistening with gel and luminescent blue eyes which glowed even from behind your glasses, and that goatee, which normally I don't find attractive, but which on you looked fantastic. Though I must admit, almost shamefully, that I've already forgotten the contours of your face, and the exact planes which made you so gorgeous. I suppose that's because I was too shy to really look at you and memorise them. But I can say that should I ever happen to see you in the street, I would know it was you. It seemed, and I hope I wasn't only imagining it, that you didn't want to leave the conversation we were having. And for once, it wasn't me who was talking, keeping someone else there. The words spouted forth from you, weaving around each other into conversation, keeping me there smiling and responding and secretly wishing that you wouldn't leave too soon. 

I practically glowed after you left. I had to work hard to suppress the grin which pulled at the muscles in my face, tempting them to fix themselves into that smile. Finally, after more than 3 years, the thing I'd hoped for and mostly forgotten about had happened. There have been others who have caught my eye, of course, but never one who took the time to talk to me as though I was someone more in their life than just the girl at the counter. I really wanted you to come back. If not to ask for a date, at least to ask for another conversation. It's kind of too bad. It's also kind of scary that I was so attracted to you. The fact you took the time to really talk to me strengthened that attraction. So while I may not remember exactly what you looked like, left only with the vague image of your face and the sharp memory of features like your hair and your eyes, I will always remember the way you made me feel; the way I didn't want to stop grinning, the way I wanted to tell the whole world I met a guy who seemed almost reluctant to end our conversation, the way that I felt less like somebody in the background, for the first time in my life. I shouldn't fall for you for that alone, of course, I mean I hardly know you, but it's definitely more than enough for me to agree to going out with you, had you asked me. Well, I can always hope; after all, you know where I work. But I really thought that I ought to put it out there that you fanned that tiny spark in me enough so that it now emits a glow.

The Lessons of Raindrops

So I sat and watched the rain pour down, gazed as it hit the flowers and made them tremble, stared as the droplets collected into perfect little beads that clung to petals and twigs; flawless diamonds when they catch the light. It's a shame that so many people think of rain as an annoyance, inconvenience, and interruption, when if they had cared to look a little closer, they would have observed that those same water drops lent a subtle beauty to the world. It may make the roads slippery and hinder picnics, but the rain makes flowers more beautiful, spider webs look more delicate and provides a natural soundtrack that cleanses the soul. If people looked past their dislike for it they would see something that they would fall in love with. It reminds me of you.

Even you succumbed to the negativity that surrounds people, as we all sometimes do. Often I would hope that despite the fact that a great many people did not hold you in as high esteem as you would have liked, that you would see past that anyway and appreciate your beauty. Sometimes I would hope that like with the rain, people would take the time to look a little closer and admire you. But mostly I hoped that you would see it for yourself by somehow pushing past all the insecurities you harbour and all the mistakes you've made, and most especially by ignoring all the stupid things I said but didn't mean. I wonder if you ever did. I suppose I'll never find out, but I may still hope.

You must understand that I could not be around someone who was trying to change themselves; your hair, your weight, your body, your looks, the way you dressed. I could never comprehend who you were trying to impress, not when I thought you were perfect the way you were, and yes, I say that even though I have said things to the contrary, but that is what happens when someone you love cannot love themselves the way you love them - frustration at their inability to see sparks anger which always proves to be your downfall, for as it cascades around you, words you wish you didn't even think come tumbling forth and spill into the universe from where you cannot take them back. You point out the negative simply because they cannot see the positive when you try to show them that. In the end, I suppose you weren't trying to impress a specific person, but anyone. You just wanted someone to notice because it would build your self worth and that's where I failed you. I should have told you all the good things, especially in your bad times. If I'd been more acknowledging, and you'd been more appreciative of yourself, we would not be where we are today.

As it is, it was a lesson learnt from a tragedy. It was a lesson on how to treat another person, on how misery and love can live side by side, and on how a person can be more addictive than a drug. And even though you can give up on a drug, the feelings that accompanied it will come back to haunt you now and then. Do you say hello and shake hands, or do you keep walking, ignoring the temptation to recognise it, stubbornly repeating to yourself the mantra "it is dead"?

What Happened?

You have managed to surprise me, truly, you have. I thought that a lifetime of memories would suffice and allow me to presume that I knew you, but alas, you have gone and said something that made me stop and stare. I never thought you would be the one to have such a wish. I'm even proud of you for it, perhaps despite the fact that I would not do the same.

It's peculiar though, that you sift through old home videos, watching yourself at a time that now you have no memory of and you're forced to wonder, "what happened?" Once there was a girl, bubbling with innocence and confidence whose tresses cascaded down her back in honey coloured curls. Now and then she would do something and then flash a cheeky grin, taking charge in every situation. She's not the same anymore. Today she's quiet, reserved, willing to stand back and watch others do what once she would have thrown herself into. She's watched friendships fade, and loved ones drift and felt a million things that will haunt her for life. And now, you have made her realise something she was resolute that she would never do: with a thunderous crash and a stinging sensation came the realisation that she stereotypes. She stereotyped you.

You and I were always so different, complete opposites in every imaginable way. This is certainly no exception. It's a lifestyle choice and one I don't think I could live with, but I believe that is why I admire it in you, especially when I thought you would be someone who would not do what you revealed that in fact you did want to do. Stick with that decision Cousin, I admire you for it. I thank you also, for leaving me scratching my head in confusion and wondering "what the hell happened to me?"