Tuesday, 31 August 2010
Sometimes the silence gets so loud, nothing you say could ever be heard over it. Sometimes it gets so thick, its unpiercable. The thought of screaming and trying so desperately, is no longer an option. And so the silence mutes you. and deaf and dumb you remain.
Saturday, 28 August 2010
And I'm reading this book about death in your house, where you once lived. Your name and the tears that start in my heart and work up, are synonymous. I hope you are resting in peace. More peacefully than us, those you left behind. Three years today. How can the earth still turn? And I read, the sky had not changed its silence or its shape or its position after your soul rose up to it. The little girl raised her eyes to it, searching for some trace. She walked then stopped, ran then stopped, and finally sat down. But the sky still looked the same, uninterested in all the movements underneath it.
Friday, 27 August 2010
And all death leave you with is that nagging feeling. You should have been here. And I cant stop thinking it. The years are good to us. Your missing out on what would have been the best years of your life. And as horrible as that is, I cant stop thinking it. How unfair, what a horrible joke. Life, or rather death, snatched you away, like a dropped egg, moments before hatching. We’re legal now, we can do and joke and say all the things we were once aspiring to. We’re doing all the things we once planned to, but your not here, and I cant stop thinking it. If love, if tears were enough, you would be here. But somehow its not, and neither are you. and I cant stop thinking it.
Thursday, 26 August 2010
Tuesday, 24 August 2010
And the only thing that plagues me now on those cold, once lonely nights, is the question of whether I will ever be able to believe again. Will I ever be able to feel? Its no longer a refreshing change, but now almost as worrying. Fire to ice, fire to ice.
Thursday, 19 August 2010
Tuesday, 17 August 2010
And its all because I disliked the person I was when I was with you, that I dislike you now. Its strange how your world can turn upside down, change beyond all recognition. I couldn’t fake a laugh with you now if I tried. You were once what dictated whether or not I could smile. Like the caterpillar that thought his life would be over when he died, the butterfly found itself to be so much more beautiful. Unsure of how he had once been such an ugly thing.
Saturday, 14 August 2010
You are my go-to thought when my mind is blank. And how long can you cringe at yourself for after the fact? You brought out things in me I would rather forget. I would like to think that was me pretending, rather than the true size of my ego. I would like to think I was simply trying to match yours. After being ice for so long, I willingly turned into water for you, against all odds bursting into flames. There are some things I suppose your meant to put to rest, without ever really getting any rest from it. I wish I could go back, re-act, re-think my actions and those thoughts I never should have thought aloud. Perhaps that’s how it goes. I had been getting too used to getting my way for too long. The balance must have been wrong.
Friday, 13 August 2010
Thursday, 12 August 2010
And I hate that you feature so strongly in the story of my life when you are irrelevant now. Like a lead actor that dies early on, but the plot revolves around him. And you thought you were the centre of the universe, or rather the universe itself. You are neither. You are the big bang. And I evolved from you.
Tuesday, 10 August 2010
Her head is cloudy with thoughts cramming into each other, different voices fighting to be heard. Which should she believe? The fear is the easiest to give in to. Stick to what you know, what you love. What will you do otherwise? Can you breathe? Can you move? And although those things are still possible they are done with so much more effort. Its funny how performing the simplest of tasks can feel like an eternity when you have this weight in your chest. The sweating of palms and racing of hearts is worst. Waiting for something all the time, not knowing what it is. And then what? What happens now? It is so difficult to move on when you have given everything you have. Although at the same time its easier because you know there is nothing more you could have done. Life is wonderful after awhile. Just wait and see. There is a whole other world out there. One that is all the more wonderful after your absence from it. There are so many things out there. How did she shut all the doors around herself? Thankyou for opening them back up when you left. There is so much more out there. So much light pouring in, she needs to squint to see her future.
Sunday, 8 August 2010
I woke up today with a good feeling about the world. The beach can do that to you. in a place of such natural beauty, what can you find to be unhappy about? Eyes closed, head back, listening to the waves and the wisdom they hush hush upon your shores. Infinite, untouchable. The definition of permanence. But the problem with absolutely perfect summer days is that they are bulls eyes for something to go outright wrong.
Thursday, 5 August 2010
And people too often make accusations, question your character with only fragments of proof. And people too often believe, and begin to question themselves, wondering which of these fragments are true. I have been told many times what I am, and what I am not. I have believed too often, doubtful of myself, succumbing to you, when I should have known the truth. You can never know another person in the ways you assume you can. Actions and words are not always, if ever, carried out under the guise of complete awareness or understanding. What appears irrational to you may tumble very genuinely, completely rational, from those parts of my brain you cannot see-through. It makes perfect sense to me. It doesn’t need to, to you.
Sunday, 1 August 2010
Fairytales make us believe that love is all encompassing, forever forgiving. Sacrifice and love are supposedly linked. So we bow and we break. We give, forgetting to take. And we laugh when we shouldn't, and think that we'll die, when we won't. Fairytales make us believe that we are born only half. So we spend our time looking for the part, that which will make us whole. Succeeding only in reaching the frustration of someone who's spent years working on a puzzle, reaching the last piece, only unable to find it. But that is not what love is. That kind of love will only ever leave you empty. That last piece will never suffice. You be the sun, I' ll be the moon. I am beautiful, with or without you.