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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

Celebration

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

Misery

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

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.

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.