Sunday, 6 December 2015

Land of the Living

When you wish to forget what your waking moments and thoughts are. But you cannot? You may as well put it away elsewhere until it returns again.

For these moments are so beautiful, treasured. Tragic. Yet, they take a little piece of you away with them. Not so much as you would notice. They chisel carefully, considered, measured. Careful not to leave visible upset to those other naked eyes. Yet you, the I, is left so awares. Quite frankly, its yours.


The weight of your arms, draped around me. Like knot they twist around my waist, holding gently to my shoulder, the other to a hip. Steady breaths, a sleep that is sound and even. As you exhale, I feel the motion in my body and the air lightly dancing on my neck. A sigh of content escapes your lips. Our scents light on our skin, creating us. Home. How many mornings I had woken and looked forward to this being as many mornings as there are sunrises. Time for us. Pressed warmth fills every inch of my back. It's comfortable familiarity. It's my safety.

And then there's this moment. This pause. Where everything goes so painfully slow. I'm given that unwanted power to put it all back in its place. It's just, I have to let you go, again. Give you back. Not chase it, let you come and go as has been. I tell myself this wasn't real, this isn't living.

So you're gone. Bed empty, warmth dissipated. The sense of you lingers briefly, and yet suddenly slipped away. But there's too much that tells me, reminds me, pulls me; that lets me know it was always both of us. Never just me. Nor just you. Always tracing back to us. These moments can also give us pieces back. Albeit brief.


Until whenever next time is.

Thursday, 3 September 2015

Keep No Score

Many a check point is crossed off during time apart and away. Visiting new and unusual places, full of excitement and a longing ache in heart. You are always on my mind. There are so many sights I know you'd have loved to see, but why speak in past tense? You'll see them, unlikely at this point with me. Blinding determination says otherwise, and who's to argue with a heart that doesn't know any better than to stick by what it truly believes in. Optimism? Deep set beliefs? We're not ones for crushing hopes and dreams after all. Right? The reality hits on the daily, but it is not enough to deter hope, to smite out wishing. It is not for others to determine the thoughts and feelings of one individual, but remember that it can be their place to step in and be your guide. "When all lights are out." Until you cannot see your hands in front of your face, feel the pain in your feet from walking along this seemingly never ending path - they urge you, you dig deep into your resolve, and you keep walking. It's taken me this long to realise that the direction doesn't matter, because though you can retrace old steps, you aren't re-walking them. Not really. You are a different, experienced walker now in comparison to then. You step over rocks that previously tripped you, you fall into rabbit holes you previously sidestepped, you find a beautiful bloom to gaze upon and find new terrains to conquer. Even though it is that same path. The thudding heart drum beat kicks in now and you plod along rhythmically to it. Progress. Now what next? I promise you that you meet some of the same faces and catch the attention of other, entirely new ones. Scars, pimples, dimples, and smirkers alike. The self awareness makes things lighter. Enables you to see, don't be too obvious about it being in the traditional sense. We do not receive trophy achievements in life for playing the game by the great designer's rules. Too much mess, too many people pulling out the 'life is so unfair' card for that to be a truth. Instead, prepare for the ceremony well. Keep yourself "healthy", they say. Not necessarily the big reality when life and mental health have differing ideals on how existence works. Breaking hearts to keep safety is an under contested subject, though I am unsure if I could objective contribute to the debate. We're the unsure poster children belonging to a generation that is one challenge after the next. Drag your warpainted fingers cross your cheeks and set your grimace ready to face what uncertainties await you. Only those (blindly, misguidedly) clever among us seem to truly believe you can plan mystery and practise presenting futures. Perhaps that is their determination showing.

Will it take a map to help us trace our steps together again?
There are jobs to be done, tasks to be fulfilled. Truths to be told.

This "pause" feels like a giant intake and held breath.
Having not yet become blue in the face, I look to the day when I get to exhale. 
How I wish you were around.

Oh wonderful one,
We will be okay.

Tuesday, 4 August 2015

Usual Tragedy

Quick, quick away with you,
Gone in a flash - 
A Moment overdue.

This learning game; a cruel one, because when and how do we decide that we have moved from the right fight to the never ending punishment? A sincere commitment, a brutal endurance.

The circus there one moment, yet gone the next. Just like your head on the pillow.

When will the joy in my heart not bear you? Wise was it to learn that joy is not held in arms. It is contained in a far greater existence. The something more.

Though I should be certain, you'd never left me. Surely?

Time gives me the strength to perhaps reconsider this, and to equally quash it. Our own figure eight. Only, with you gone in that somewhere more, I am left to paint it with fingers in sand of one size. My size only.

Figuring it out. I see stars and ache knowing you are someone looking at them too. 

Sunday, 12 April 2015

Dust On The Ground

Where has the quiet gone? The contented silence of hours and hours.

I made a claim, laughed at by those having their way. I am no longer home with you.

Though, admittedly, this has been the case for quite some time.

The pain has never really left, you see. I know you hoped it would.
Yes, I have slept a little better. I have learnt that there is a way to manage what others look and point at as an 'impossible' situation. If you were to ask me, I could not tell you how.

The dust has been stirred and settled, but does not cover those still here.
I was quiet, but never blind.

Perhaps it is when romantics die that the stars shine a little brighter, welcoming the weary to gleam out in their final explosion of radiance. Though I believe this to be untrue, that is in our life they sparkle most. For we are to see their cheer only then, only alive. For loves of lives and lives of love exist in the now. So we must strive to live to see them through. We must continue on. 

Nothing tempts me away. I have spent much time in a different kind of lonely from you.

Scaling mountains, crossing seas and tramping through forests has not been necessary here. No adventures, no great distance to reach a final destination in journey. Holding on is a different kind of travel. Yet, I have walked some kind of path. I have roamed and returned. Always the same. A look in the mirror never the same.

"Because I'm searching for something I hope in my heart I will find,
And though it's testing my patience away I'll be biding my time."

Is this all a test? The greatest test of my life?
What is strong? What keeps me hanging on here?

"Your mess is mine." 

I know it has been a while, yet again. Just please know you are so loved. 

Sunday, 25 January 2015

I Bet My Life

Pendulum swing, swing. Up, down and round.

Rusty machines, oil us up and watch the mechanisms whir once more. Are you deaf, dumb or blind did you forget we chimed before? That's an insult. It's a new age though and we're updated on such a basis you'd assume it was just outdated. Political correctness gone, forgiven for ignorance (because isn't it bliss - the oldnew drug). Out of mind, bent out of shape. The system works doesn't it? So, no fuck you.

Card house built so high with your skills that make you heavenly. They translate in all parts of your life. Does that make you so much better? A kingdom for you to rule upon high. Happiness is happy, as long as you are happy with it. It's the last call and pushed people go through the door, downing their tomorrows from the glass as they go. One look and it tumbles down and down and down and down. Clumsy are these cards, indeed.
Broke literary power rules, now its lost the control over the reader, anarchy taking baby steps. Irony.

Run aways!

Told us we're gonna die anyway, but starting to think we should enjoy it before the forever ends is a new concept - one that takes some getting used to at times. Nightmares don't disappear over-day.

Black glitters. So bound by the night and only love the morning dusk a little. Air is so very vital, has anyone told that to the noose? Little owl, wise as you are, tell me what to do.

You don't even want to know what I see behind closed eyes.


Written, the above, quite some time ago, let us see what the new year has to offer:

So you shall see.

Quite some time passes. Calendars are replaced and new days greet you with the sense of before. You've lived this day, but at a different time, a moment unparallel to the right now. It is gripped tightly in your fingers, though no tension exists. Palms upturn and it hops lightly onto your shoulders, where it comfortably sits, cradling your neck. A warmth that serves purpose, only when decided upon. We can call some moments comforting. At the same time in a late time, we may see it as stifling. In this way, do we choose our own oppressions? What we make of them?

"Yeah, I said forever."

That friend of ours is becoming no more as they change beyond recognition. Are we to fight the freshly unfamiliar departure or let them be? Is it responsibility until we name it that? We have our familiars and those we must guard as we are entrusted to keep them unharmed. We cannot understand, we cannot, just can't - this is LOUD, this is REPEATED, this is CONSUMING.

A fundamental difference between hoping and expectation. What you called concrete, I called potential. What you called a fixed sinking sand, I called the chance for all kinds of adventure. What you called wrong, we called love. Dear you, you are so lost on goodness and selflessness. He cannot make good, for reasons beyond control.

And so, you shall hopefully, optimistically, see.

I love, and this is life in return?