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.....

Just Random

I really wonder at what time my brain starts to function. It seems that after a day of trying to numb it with games and senseless sitcoms it spurs itself to action and propels me to work. Imagine that! I feel extremely insulted, as I did my utmost best to attempt to put it into a slothful and sleepy state, and yet my own brain is plotting against me, forcing creativity and work out of me.

Oh, the perfidious rotter, my own subconscious at war with it's host. The first thought that springs to my mind is that I my dear brain is extremely ungrateful. After all, am I not a most gracious host? Do I not require almost nothing from it, and summon it to work sporadically, with very generous lunch breaks? Do I not entertain it enough?

Yet, why this rebellious upset. What force of nature is compelling me to attempt to accomplish something at this very unholy hour. I do feel utterly hurt and betrayed by my dear brain. I suppose I am gifted to not posses a very fine specimen, otherwise I would feel that I am doing society a great injustice by not accomplishing anything. But, as the case may be, I am free of that troublesome burden of shaking the world. As such, I am fit to do as I please, but, sigh, I am being conspired against.

They say no man is safe in his own home. I no longer feel safe in mine own body. Who knows what idle acts it may spur me to attempt. Acts such as cleaning, oh, cleaning, my eternal enemy. Or other such time wasters, such as studying, researching, or, dare I say it.....working. Oh brain, thou art a fickle friend and have never been of much use to me. I half suspect that I could live a wholesome life (by current standards) without your presence. Come to think of it, there are many who have tried such a feat as complete brain-killing, either by drug abuse or willful neglect, while others were born almost completely lacking such a loathsome equipment, which, in their case, makes any attempts at destroying such a pathetic creation completely superfluous.

Need I point out that about 70% of these very singular individuals became pop stars, or was it evident to all? The other 30% went for public office.

Are you brain dead?

Enough Said

Can't Live With 'Em

...and can't live without them. Sad, indeed. I can't seem to make up my mind; I am a mass of contradictions that only make sense if you look at me from the most impossible angles a feat which only the Almighty can achieve. Sometimes I wonder if I have a duel personality, sometimes I think I am going crazy. I often wondered what'd be like to go mad, sometimes I wonder if I am there already.

But, to the topic at hand; women. They are what make the world go round, and at the same time one of them can stop it turning, just like that. She can place one simple look at you and that will be it; there is no more gravity, motion or time, and the rules are broken. Maybe that's why the call it 'falling'. Sadly enough, when you fall, you land hard. You fall broken and bruised, stunned and incapacitated, and suddenly you are in the hands of someone far more powerful than you. Someone who holds a grip over your heart like no one can, someone who can crush it harder than anyone, someone who will...

Maybe I'm lucky that I am so unlucky, where they are concerned. It's not like I am overly shy, extremely ugly (more like just ugly) or even really detestable. Sure, I am all of those things to a degree, but you'd think I had the plague. I've come to the point which very few men will ever reach in their testosterone filled dreams. And that is that there are some things which are simply out of reach. Some dreams will never be fulfilled, while the ones that do will be nothing but hollow accomplishments; a shiny medal in an empty room. At last I have come to the conclusion that I will never be the man that every guy wants to be, in fact I am on the other side of the spectrum, about 3 billion men behind Johnny Depp, standing at the end of the line. I really should put myself on display, for I am a wonder to behold.

Maybe I can disprove evolution, look at me and you will be convinced that the human race is indeed getting less fit, and less likely to procreate. I hope to God there are not more like me out there, otherwise the human race stands a nasty chance. My only wish is that I can deal with the nagging thoughts in my head which tell me that I don't want to die alone...