Not You

You came back. I’ve danced this dance before, heard the echoes of a story too familiar. You came back and things were the same, except different. I was a little bit stronger, and just as unwise. And all I heard were the things I tried to say, hoped to say and ended up not saying.

Wondering how a guy could deserve a second chance. He could have called himself the luckiest guy, he should have, why didn’t he, how didn’t he, it doesn’t matter, he didn’t. Yet I dub him the most unlucky of all guys. If life is cruel and unfair, if Lady Luck smiles only upon those who recognize her face, if the circumstance, the tune, the chord, the faintest of melodies are what shape the decisions you end up making, then he is but unlucky. Maybe I’m being kind to call an imbecile as nothing more than tormented by fate, as the rhyme and reason for absolutely stupidity.

I wish you knew just how much a guy like that should mean. If Gods and men demand a higher form of punctuation to pronounce their significance, he gets none. For he is neither. A noun as common as any. Every morning when he was blessed enough to wake up besides those auburn locks, he should have thanked every angel, every curse and demon that put his path besides yours.

And I stand here, looking. My head turning at every gorgeous face, miniscule hemline and shining pupil. Seeing the beauty and wonder before me, wondering who would be the next. Truth is that you’re not the most beautiful person in the world. I can count many more with better symmetry, style, substance or stance. But there is one thing that makes every face worthless in my eye. They all have the same problem, that same flaw.

They are all, not you.  

And I know that to you, I’m not even a second glance. I know where I stand and I know just how far it is from you. Maybe you’ll never see me as anything more than a child. But it doesn’t really matter, because last night I stumbled up the stairs after I stumbled through the last phrase I uttered to her gorgeous face, awkward and ambiguous and always overly ambitious to anticipate anything more. And I finally shed a tear for someone that wasn’t her who is not worthy to be named.

I don’t know where I am, or where I’ll go from here. I know I’ll hope, I know it will crush me. But like I said, I’ve danced this dance before. And maybe next time, I’ll know the steps. 

Just a Weirdo

Here I am.

Off my high horse. Without the vantage to glare down at the petulant masses. Dirty, rotten sandals replacing the finely crafted leather boots, a mud-soaked tunic clinging to the broken mass that is used to finer silks. I've lost my scales, I can't find the balance. My horse was dying and still my hands cleave to the bloodied sword that brought about my cruel mercy.

It's been a while coming. It started with the shame. Through every battle, every skirmish, my horse kept me safe. I was a mounted knight. Always the one with the higher ground. Above everyone else. I could see their flaws so clearly. I was special. I was more than human. I ruled my own little world and I was better than everything in it.

And through it all, I could have nothing else but my high horse on which I was seated. I would prove just how special I was. I wore the scars of battle proudly, as a testament to one who is fit to sit on such a steed. Yet for all my vantage, I couldn't see what I had become. Then came a misstep. And another. And finally I had to look back at the carnage I had left. And saw what I could never bear to see, and what the stars would be cruel to deign on me again. Those I had hurt from my God-damned high horse. Some who meant the world to me. Some who didn't matter as much. And one whom I had intended to hurt, to mirror the scar embedded on the left side of my chest.

I couldn't believe what I'd become. This was not who I was. This is not who I am. There remains one thing left to do. You don't ride a horse into battle time and again without it becoming a part of you. I swear that I felt the blade carving through flesh as I swung it down towards my horse. And then it was over.

I've thrown down my fine silks and armor. I walk now, a peasant. One of many. Just another weirdo. Another misunderstood soul. The last thing I ever wanted to be and yet everything I was. Human. One of them. This race that I've hated so long for their cruelty and malevolence towards each other. Wretched beings, I cried. But I'm one of them now.

It's different, walking. I feel this is where I was supposed to be all along. I can look people in the eye. Stare into their beautiful eyes stinging with the pain of a thousand hurts as we hold hands and walk together. I'm no better than them. I'm nothing more than just another weirdo. Yet I don't care for my horse, all I want is the chance to look someone in the eye, tell them that I can see their pain and throw my arm around them as we lean on each other down this rugged, beautiful path that we call life.

I'm just another weirdo, and I couldn't be happier.

1.43

I woke up and threw my phone against the wall. Punching a pillow, kicking a mattress in a tantrum tantamount to a twelve year old, furious with angst and anger, rage and confusion and worst of all, the possibility of hope. Looking at the phone, I read the message again. And again. The birth of hope, the promise of pain. And at 1.43, the only woman who could look me in the eye was free.

An honest person, someone I know I could trust. Someone who is kind, intelligent, sweet. Someone whom I could never call mine. A woman so cruel to be kind to me. And so, angry, I work myself up into a rage again. And then calm, I pull the strands of myself together, and watch helplessly as she sinks back from whence she came. Leaving me, still standing, still waiting.

It’s not her concern, none of her business really. It’s not completely her fault and definitely not her worry. While I wonder what horrific sin I have committed to be so accursed as to like someone so perfect. And I sit here, unable to come to grips with myself. Unsure and uncertain and worst of all unable. Refusing to open the box and find a dead cat, playing it safe, standing on the side, too scared to do anything but wait and wish for another life.

Be my rock, be my solace. Be my shouler to cry on. And I would wake up at 1.43 every morning, if only to throw my phone at the wall again and breathe in the crushing air of hope.   

Only You

I want you to know that it was only you. There were others flocking about, in a different order, of a varying proximity. And I would look, and wonder, but never wandered. Despite the years going by, the distance between us which always grew further and further, tantalizingly close for a second; and further still, there was only one. Despite being away, despite being around others, despite trying to run away, bitter and hateful, there was still only one.

I asked myself over and over why. Why was I never able to move on? Why can’t I move on now? What was so incredibly special about someone who turned out to be the complete antithesis of me, someone who crushed me and nearly completely destroyed me? I suppose because through it all, I never had to be anyone or anything other than myself. And I was loved for that.

'

And in a way I understand what happened, although I still never fully understood why. Why someone would be afraid of themselves, would choose to deny everything that made them human, until nothing remains but a shell of a person, a hollow soul, an empty case. And I know there is nothing to go back to and that nothing remains.

Except to settle the final score. The remaining doubt, something which I felt was on her mind. And if I could tell her one thing, I would want her to know that it was only her. Only you. And not just from the first moment I met you, because there was no one before that. A part of me thinks that I may never completely trust anyone else after that. And so one remains, a part of my life, a special, treasured part of my existence, which started from when I met you till we had to say our last goodbye.

And again, despite others coming in the way, distractions and disturbances, time and distance, people and place, there was only ever one.

And I want you to know that it was you.  

My letter to No One

I want to tell you somethings, a few things, a thing or two. What I was thinking about on a cold, foggy morning, the idea I had that came to me while waiting for my coffee to brew. The thoughts I had that were mine, and yours. The way I could pick up a random train of thought and send it careening your way, the weird ones, the silly thoughts, the genius ones. They were all met the same, they were loved.

Now that the turmoil and anguish is over, there remains an empty chair in my livingroom. A place on a table set for two, a dead line on the other side of the phone. And I look around me, and see new faces starting to enter, beautiful, amazing people. People I would never have known existed, ideas and clarity I could have never achieved. The joy and wonder of company, the peace of solitude, the simplicity of expression, all made possible by an empty seat.

And even though I embrace the future and am in awe of the wonder of existence now before me, there comes a time when I look at the seat and wish that it wasn't like that. Brazenly resolute and full of hope and belief like I've never possessed, I falter from time to time. And I look at the seat. Strong and impenetrable, I'm the king of my own castle, indestructible and formidable. But sometimes I still look at the seat.

Sometimes I wish things didn't end the way they did. Sometimes I wish they had never started. Sometimes I think about the future and the endless possibilities, and I look at the past like a cherished memory, and acknowledge that it is all behind me. But sometimes I wish I could pull up a chair next to where the empty one was, lean back and talk to the best friend I ever had. But I know that no good can come of that, the past and the future must be separate. I think mixing the two is the downfall of humanity, the curse of existence.

Wishing for what you had, hoping for what's gone. And letting it affect your future, refusing to let anyone else sit in that treasured space. Time is my greatest enemy, unmovable, fixed and unbreakable, as much as I wish it to be wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff I could conquer with a wooden box and a charming smile. The past, firmly fixed, unchangeable. It's refusing to accept this that is the cause of most of our grief, we want what is no longer ours, what we can no longer have. Old faces, friends, people from whom time and space no separates us. Ironically, it's a belief that the future is miserably fixed which can contribute to angst of existence.

The future is whatever I want it to be, whichever path I go down. A future with pain and consequence, joy and fun, love, laughter and hangovers. A present where I keep my eyes fixed on the future, but not too far, and not to forget that I'm alive. And finally a future with someone sitting in the chair opposite me, maybe not perfect, maybe not everything I could dream of, but something wonderful. And I don't know what that will be like, but I'm not going to limit myself, because the future is everything brilliant and unexpected.

And I'm looking forward to it.

Possibly the Last

I know I promised myself that I wouldn't post here anymore, but today has been an awful day and I feel the need to rant, and this is still the safest place to do it. Still, it is hardly safe anymore, and my thoughts and words are being suppressed as I type, I really don't have any other option. I wonder about this Blog, what it accomplished, what it did for me and the community in general. The answer is rather simple; nothing.

It did nothing but serve as a vent for the tumultuous and terrifyingly taut thoughts that transpired amongst the tangled and twisted turns and tubes that is my head. And this blog was not ever about acquiring readers (a point in which it succeeded quite well in), nor about being read, it was simply about writing to the wind. Not many people know the abandon that comes from writing your processes out carefully and then throwing them to the wind, being careful only to not sign the paper...

But alas, me and my mouth. Would have been wonderful to have kept it shut, but, no I couldn't. I knew I would regret it and so I do. And so, the pages are still unsigned, but there lurks a creature who knows, and who can read these and think of me, and that thought is terrifying in totality. Too bad, I guess. I had a rather nice run.

And so, unable to speak what I really want, I am forced to say goodbye. It's funny, but I don't remember having used the backspace key this much for a blog post EVER. Which is just confirmation that I am doing the right thing. Perhaps I will find a new haven to haunt. Or not. Either rate, this isn't the way I would have liked this to turn out, but nothing ever turns out the way you want it to. Someone people would call it the agony of life. Others would call it cruel fate. Some would call it justice.

I just call it life; it's here, you might as well enjoy it.

Enough Said.....finally.

Not Much

I really need to talk to someone. But I can't. For so many reasons. I can't risk burdening anyone I love with these troubles, they are too much, too much to understand, to comprehend, let alone to bear. But I have to say something, to someone, even the dead ears of the information superhighway. Sometimes you can't find anyone who can or will listen, and it's at those times, when you are alone, and have nothing but the walls to share your pain, to listen, to hear, to comfort.

I, am, for lack of a better word; scared. Not of someone or anything, but of the future, of life, of all its worries and cares. All that is expected of me, all there is leading me astray, into a life of nothing. All I want to do is to curl up in a bundle besides my closest friend, and be protected from the evil world as she holds me in her arms and tells me that everything is going to be alright. But she is not here. Story of my life, I guess, everything I hold dear runs away from me.

I have but one Friend left. The one Person who has stayed with me for all my life, the One who promised that He would be with me till the end of the world, the One who stood by me for all these years, the One who is so far away now I can't hear Him anymore. And so, here is me, in all my mortality. Drooping, weak, nothing more than an afeared child, a pathetic existence, a nobody.

Not much at all.....