The Dilemma.

And the movies, the shows, the books, the world, they tell us love is sacrifice. That they are one and the same, intertwined. But why? What if I don't want to sacrifice. What if I can't anymore? Why does compromise have to be so closely related? And does that make me selfish? But I have never managed to love like that, in a non sacrificial, non compromised way. I can't tell you it's possible when I have no proof. And so I don't love. I try, I pretend. I fail. And they tell me I will be lonely... Maybe I will.

Photography: Muzi

Who Wins?

And when the devil loses, on those rare occasions, I think it might feel even worse than when he wins. At least when he wins, you got what you wanted too. When he loses, you just got what you think, what you thought you deserved. Maybe you are supposed to let the devil win. This battle is so tiring, so pointless, when all I want is to give in.

Photography: Muzi.

Please.

Can someone please tell the past that that's the only place it belongs.

Photography: Muzi.

Under Your Thumb.

I can't stand people who try and make you question yourself with every remark, every sly glance your way. For so long you successfully kept me so under your thumb. For so long I failed to even think of fighting my way out, I didn't even want to. I'm not sure what more to say, Fuck Off. It's none of your business. And although it's sad that you can one day not know anything about the person you once knew every single thing about, it makes sense, they are brand new after all. And if the cells in my body regenerate every second, why shouldn't I?

Photography: Muzi.

The Up In Flames.

And even though like i said, I know that everything is temporary. Even though I know that sooner or later, you will have to say goodbye... It still shocks me when I witness it. Let's raise a glass to the deceased. And how can you bear to lift your arm to do so? How does the heaviness thats in your heart not translate to that? The throbbing, the goosebumps, the splintered, sharp edges of your broken heart digging into you, how does that not translate into the broken smile on your face? And the goodbye that has to, and therefore does come tumbling out through your half upturned lips, tripping and falling over itself, as it escapes the warmth and what it knows... how does it manage to force itself out?

Photgraphy: Muzi.

The Past.

Head to head, eye to eye, sneer to sneer. Upturned top lips and glaring eyes. The old me and the new me, face to face. Who will win? Who will persevere? I am habit, I am one, I am only, screams the slightly bedraggled one. The scars on her arms and the snag in her voice tell you all you need to know, she emerged from a war victorious. The other is adorned only by neon, only by the light in her eyes which had not yet been put out. It was harder to bring her to battle, after all, she only fought with herself. I am improved, I am one, I am only, screams the one with light in her eyes. Head to head, eye to eye, sneer to sneer. You cant get rid of me, the other sing songs, arms high, ready, as always for battle. I am part of you. I am what made you who you are. You cant get rid of me.

Photograhy by: Muzi.

Untouched Mythology.

And we sat and twisted the words, until we made them what we want. Until we made them fit us, and what we believed. Need? Want? It doesn't exist. Those individuals, those who merge from two, slowly into one. Those for whom the fire dies in their eyes day by day. Those for whom we see their passions, slowly becoming a singular. Those for whom two heartbeats are more important, four hands to cling to, four eyes to well up, two pairs of lips to care and cry and scream so desperately. We made those individuals out to have made a choice. It will never happen to us. We don't need to take that road. And the crisis was averted. We made the words speak. We made them tell us only what we wanted them to.

Photography by: Muzi.

And What If.

'You're perfect', she whispers, her head lowering as her voice started to waver. 'But I'm busy right now. I'm busy holding myself together, with tape, and glue.' And as she said it the tears rolled, not so freely, down her face. She was not the kind of person to cry, she was a fortress. And as he stared at her, his heart breaking, he turned and walked away. And it leads me to wonder, if you should always respect a persons wishes. What if they need you? What if they don't know quite how much. What if you, being the capable one, should decide whether or not they do. What if they need you? What if it should be you, helping hold them together, with that tape and glue.

Everything is Temporary.

The words everything is temporary, in that order, with all its curves and complexities. Those words, they saved my life. They changed me. They showed me light when I thought there was none. Comforted me with the knowledge that I wouldn’t feel the way I was feeling forever. That nothing really lasts forever anyway, and why had I ever thought differently? Those words, they explained all of life’s mysteries to me. Why he never called, why she betrayed you, why they changed, why you changed, why he died. I owe my life to those words. I owe my life, my sanity to those words. As an ode to temporary I tattooed the word on my foot. I preach it almost too often. I live it almost even more. Living with the idea that everything is temporary, so far imprinted into your brain, into the very fibre of your being, its difficult to say the least. It makes it harder to assess what is worthwhile, if whatever it is is only for a while anyway. I almost feel the need to fulfil it, to make the prophecy true.

Prisoner Of The Moment.

I learnt something new about you the other day. Something that cleared the vision I had of you. that shallowed the water. I thought you were so deep, never ending. I thought I would drown in you. Sometimes you even made me feel like I should. But the bottom came flying up, shallow enough now to not even reach my knees. Removed from the moment I could see the truth.