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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Mess

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.

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.

Epiphanous

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.

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.

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.

A Sinking Ship

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

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.

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.

Home

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.

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.

Waves

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.

Slippery

Today I watched you leave. You simply turned your back and walked away, without a single care in the world. I was hoping you'd turn around and come back, but I knew you wouldn't. I've accepted that your presence is not going to be a constant one, though it should be if education is important to you. It's a shame, but each to their own. We're all adults now and we all know the choices we make. But I do hope you know what you're doing; your way ahead is slippery.