no one ever stops wanting but they have to balance what is impossible with what might be possible and try to make sense of their hopes and reality. they haven’t got a lot of hope, it would be unfair if they did. but they do the best with what they have. i mean, we can’t plan everything. life makes its own plans. sometimes we let each down; sometimes we fail each other; sometimes we break each other’s hearts; sometimes we leave. and sometimes we come back and sometimes we stick around. or sometimes it’s okay, even if we don’t. things happen and they are hard, too hard. we just get through them. that we are able. clear eyes, full hearts.
clear eyes. full heart. can’t lose.
…i’m drunk. can you come and get me?..
It took several bottles of liquor to give in. To even ask that of him. A few more and it was an absolute surrender. I even surprised myself on how much audacity it took to send that first message, to even admit he still is a much part of me.
And the replies somehow kissed more the sadness that I was already feeling. It was some sort of vindication that urge to drink more than I can handle. A rebellious effort to release him from my thoughts; to at least pretend that I am able to forget him.
Although I anticipated the answers, it didn’t make the pain hurt any less. It’s just sometimes, no matter how often we deny it or how often we accept it, we expect more from others because we’d be willing to do that much for them.
It wasn’t about how I was getting home, it was entirely about who I wanted to take me home. Drunk that I was. Just to see if he cared enough. Because I still cared enough even when others cared enough about me. He was the one that mattered.
I know I’ve been a liar, and I know I’ve been a fool, but I’m banking on your intellect and your infuriating calm to validate my efforts. I know what it’s like to love someone who doesn’t deserve it, ’cause they’re all you’ve got. To take down the ceilings and light the walls on fire just to see them burn, to love for the sake of feeling just a little less alone, I can’t understand your sense of shelter. I am, but a swarthy and incensed stranger living in a loud and contaminated wild. But, If we admit that human life can be ruled by reason, then all possibility of life is destroyed. I just don’t understand why people, why every fucking person is so bad to each other so fucking often. It doesn’t make sense to me. Judgment. Control. All that, the whole spectrum. Well, it just…
She watch herself
fall prey to her own trap
going further down the spiral
of tall-tales she so carefully
took time to spread.
Aiming to be victorious
to forge friendship
under a cloak of concern
for the well being of the other.
Down she goes
Into the spiral of lies she orchestrated.
Unmasked, looking in every direction
A pedestrian crippled by
revelations that she thought
she can get out.
Struggling to find redemption
Seeking the solace of the lies
She buried on top of the junk she offered
Finding herself drowning in pitiful shame
Rage consumes her
Trapped in her own deceit
Spinning another tale
That she thinks will save her
Like the fly caught in a spider’s web
Only the web’s her
She clamors for attention
Taking every bit of morsel
of pity she can have
out of the false face
she so consciously portray
Only this time,
miscalculated the people
who she each made a puppet of
Now that she’s been outsmarted
she still clings on to the very pedestal
she thinks she own.
Her own demons
continuing to haunt her
Not letting go,
Thirsty for companionship
Only there’s nothing left
she cling on to the
only the grapevine
she so painfully
and that even in itself
is no more.
I watch people sometimes, wonder how they can walk around with the weight of what they know. Wonder if they feel like me, stumbling with lead shoes on the bottom of the ocean, swimming in a sea of the unsay-able. It’s a mistake we make, thinking it’s words that tell us everything. It’s the sound that breaks glasses, cracks windows, sends cats up trees. Maybe we’re just not getting it, standing here listening for sensible speech, dying of loneliness and waiting for whatever it is. How do we know we’re not calling and calling all the time, our throats so tight with it, that it’s too high to hear?
He’s not the same anymore. He changed. Or maybe the feeling changed. Or maybe I never knew him after all. Or I got tired of the pretensions, of his lies.? I don’t know. I’m confused if he’s still trying to play me or because I’m just his willing prey? Or am I still the doe-eyed-fairytale believer I refuse to grow out of?
I am afraid of him now. Of the feelings that were once there, those that were often disregarded. I love him. But I’m afraid to exhaust this complexity into further more than I am willing to endure. Because I’ve gone there and I hated it. And I’m still trapped there. The wounds are fresh, left open because I still don’t know how to fix them.
I guess apathy may well be the best solution to this strangeness. Just like what he’s doing. I don’t want to jump in anymore knowing I’m going to come out cold and unloved. I wish I could be as detached as he is. But that has always been our difference. Because I believed in generosity. Because this was this first time I’ve allowed to give more freely than what he deserved. Because I believed. Because that may teach me to stick to a conviction to love, to believe no matter what, to be the one to not leave. Look what that has put into. And now, it turned out it’s not easy being the person who’s left behind. I think he made sure of it, pushing me to retreat. To be that coward once more. Making the others after him the same old faces that will hurt me in the end.
But that doesn’t change the fact that I miss the girl who loved him, who believed in him. Confidently.
I’m mourning for both the strangers I once knew. But I love him still. Strangely.
The best years of your life are the ones in which you decide your problems are your own. You do not blame them on anyone or anything. You realize that you control your own destiny.
We are powerful because we have survived.
No pity. No shame. No silence.