Devastated, tattered, bewildered and mystified; my heart is raw and dispirited - possessed by a passion that is as invigorated with detestation. The last stroke of compassion - he extracted away without a quiver, the last time we imprisoned eye contact - he gazed away. His coherent sequence of reasoning is his supreme downfall, a consistency of catastrophe taking custody of his emotions and inhibiting him from falling in love.
Immersed in my own wailing, perhaps I misplaced the authenticity of the situation and how he legitimacy felt. So tonight will be another sleepless night, a pillow will endeavour to substitute the way he held me, but all that will be returned is the saturation of my whimpers. I will lay unaccompanied surrounded by dark shadows and even darker memories. I deceived myself into holding faith, that conceivably this hostile epoch will abruptly terminate, and we will once again be simultaneous. I am exhausted from bawling, from bellowing into the unvoiced obscurity. His anonymity irritates me; his stench that lingers where he formerly stood is like an untreated contaminated abrasion. The pleat in the bed where he once lay is hollow and resembles my traumatized heart. A simple word, seven letters long - goodbye, is one second short of another memory we could have built.
I know I was a disappointment, I know I was blind and the sensation of fault saturates me. Recollections of what we had, embraces my unyieldingly, the bed we shared dreams in, the incalculable times his lips met mine, with arms wide open he revolutionized my life and yes I crave for him to thrive in his existence, but I also wish him torment. The ideology of a united panorama is as artificial as he was when he said he loves me. He alleged he would eternally be there for me, but where is he tonight? It seems like forever since he has been gone. This absence leaves me so blank.
The fighting seems so surreal, an atrocious terror. The choices I made are nauseating. I wish I could repel the past. It is said, that you do not comprehend what you have until it has departed, however while his physical presence has vanished from my bedroom, I feel that he is here and that he will stand here again. I know what I had, and I grieve for the exceptional and the appalling times because at least he was in my life. Love is such a deadly drug, and if I had my time again, I would tell him I love him more often. My skin is enriched with goose bumps; my abdomen is occupied with butterflies. Our worlds are distant, it is hard to apprehend but the ending was yesterday, and the present is an opportunity for a new beginning. I do not know what tomorrow seizes, but I ask for guidance, my inner self is lost.
Every woman has undergone the torturous pain of love. The saviour of my soul is an enemy in disguise, a no body who became my everything, who made me tremble when he came near, who kissed away the throbbing heartache, who said he would remain by me forever, has taken my breath away optimistically and unenthusiastically. I caress the feeling of a lost mind, however instantaneously he could discard me of all my anxieties. He perceives himself as a deficit, a misuse, and while he has hurt me, he will forever be my hero. Today hope seems gone, but contained in my heart I know there is no need to be terrified. The solution rests profoundly in my soul; this mourning will one day liquefy into a murky nonexistence. And although I am fragile from his lack of presence, I know the strength lies within. I will confront this world alone, but fright must be heaved and I know I must reach out into the distance to save myself from this vacancy.
A glass of scotch to relieve the pain, this existing sentiment of fluffiness is a band-aid waterproofing my distress; if only until I fall asleep a light feather to cover up authenticity. Lonely voices screaming the reflection of his eyes, his nose, his smile and a little giggle from within reaches out to me with hands wide open. If only he knew. The memories are commencing to materialise like a flickering candle prepared to burn out. I wish to awaken from a bad dream, he can’t comprehend the words he speaks so freely or what they mean. The night appears darker, the corners give the impression of sharper view, and the end seems nearer. I miss him. I will always be there for him, in hope that this will never end. I wish for him to never be a shadow from the past, I am sorry that we are nothing but cobwebs embraced in a photo of us from when things were perfect. He said not to waste my time on him; but my big blue eyes see different, they can read between the words that leave his sour lip’s; all that is waste is the arguing. He is he little voice echoing in my mind.
The bed we shared, the conversation we engaged in, the drunken laughter – I miss so dearly, and our greatest downfall is that he knows this, he embraces it, encourages it, because in his selfish mind, at the end of the day he controls me. And while I have been here before and can see the end, that he has turned his back for the last time, that this is the consequence of our own actions, and while we die, I still wish to have what we had. He will not understand, he will never understand, because he has not stood where I once did. I am trying my hardest to mend the unfixable. He sleeps so softly without me. I want him to let me hold him, taste him, be his little girl perpetually and permanently. I will always miss his smile, his kisses, his cuddles, his comfort, and his laugh. And if he tells me I am wrong, I will admit it. I have made a promise to myself, to make everything better. But the idea of us being together again, stems only as far as my own insecure head. Reality has no place for us. We are individuals, living independently. Reality tells me everything I do not wish to hear - it is time to let go.
Immersed in my own wailing, perhaps I misplaced the authenticity of the situation and how he legitimacy felt. So tonight will be another sleepless night, a pillow will endeavour to substitute the way he held me, but all that will be returned is the saturation of my whimpers. I will lay unaccompanied surrounded by dark shadows and even darker memories. I deceived myself into holding faith, that conceivably this hostile epoch will abruptly terminate, and we will once again be simultaneous. I am exhausted from bawling, from bellowing into the unvoiced obscurity. His anonymity irritates me; his stench that lingers where he formerly stood is like an untreated contaminated abrasion. The pleat in the bed where he once lay is hollow and resembles my traumatized heart. A simple word, seven letters long - goodbye, is one second short of another memory we could have built.
I know I was a disappointment, I know I was blind and the sensation of fault saturates me. Recollections of what we had, embraces my unyieldingly, the bed we shared dreams in, the incalculable times his lips met mine, with arms wide open he revolutionized my life and yes I crave for him to thrive in his existence, but I also wish him torment. The ideology of a united panorama is as artificial as he was when he said he loves me. He alleged he would eternally be there for me, but where is he tonight? It seems like forever since he has been gone. This absence leaves me so blank.
The fighting seems so surreal, an atrocious terror. The choices I made are nauseating. I wish I could repel the past. It is said, that you do not comprehend what you have until it has departed, however while his physical presence has vanished from my bedroom, I feel that he is here and that he will stand here again. I know what I had, and I grieve for the exceptional and the appalling times because at least he was in my life. Love is such a deadly drug, and if I had my time again, I would tell him I love him more often. My skin is enriched with goose bumps; my abdomen is occupied with butterflies. Our worlds are distant, it is hard to apprehend but the ending was yesterday, and the present is an opportunity for a new beginning. I do not know what tomorrow seizes, but I ask for guidance, my inner self is lost.
Every woman has undergone the torturous pain of love. The saviour of my soul is an enemy in disguise, a no body who became my everything, who made me tremble when he came near, who kissed away the throbbing heartache, who said he would remain by me forever, has taken my breath away optimistically and unenthusiastically. I caress the feeling of a lost mind, however instantaneously he could discard me of all my anxieties. He perceives himself as a deficit, a misuse, and while he has hurt me, he will forever be my hero. Today hope seems gone, but contained in my heart I know there is no need to be terrified. The solution rests profoundly in my soul; this mourning will one day liquefy into a murky nonexistence. And although I am fragile from his lack of presence, I know the strength lies within. I will confront this world alone, but fright must be heaved and I know I must reach out into the distance to save myself from this vacancy.
A glass of scotch to relieve the pain, this existing sentiment of fluffiness is a band-aid waterproofing my distress; if only until I fall asleep a light feather to cover up authenticity. Lonely voices screaming the reflection of his eyes, his nose, his smile and a little giggle from within reaches out to me with hands wide open. If only he knew. The memories are commencing to materialise like a flickering candle prepared to burn out. I wish to awaken from a bad dream, he can’t comprehend the words he speaks so freely or what they mean. The night appears darker, the corners give the impression of sharper view, and the end seems nearer. I miss him. I will always be there for him, in hope that this will never end. I wish for him to never be a shadow from the past, I am sorry that we are nothing but cobwebs embraced in a photo of us from when things were perfect. He said not to waste my time on him; but my big blue eyes see different, they can read between the words that leave his sour lip’s; all that is waste is the arguing. He is he little voice echoing in my mind.
The bed we shared, the conversation we engaged in, the drunken laughter – I miss so dearly, and our greatest downfall is that he knows this, he embraces it, encourages it, because in his selfish mind, at the end of the day he controls me. And while I have been here before and can see the end, that he has turned his back for the last time, that this is the consequence of our own actions, and while we die, I still wish to have what we had. He will not understand, he will never understand, because he has not stood where I once did. I am trying my hardest to mend the unfixable. He sleeps so softly without me. I want him to let me hold him, taste him, be his little girl perpetually and permanently. I will always miss his smile, his kisses, his cuddles, his comfort, and his laugh. And if he tells me I am wrong, I will admit it. I have made a promise to myself, to make everything better. But the idea of us being together again, stems only as far as my own insecure head. Reality has no place for us. We are individuals, living independently. Reality tells me everything I do not wish to hear - it is time to let go.
It is a new day today. I drank myself to sleep last night, and my head is spinning but not as fast as my emotions are - which are spiralling down toward depression. I can hear my heart beat in my ear; it sounds sore and loveless, but I know it is there to remind me that I am alive. Yes, even without him in my life, I am living, even if it seems like a life without purpose. Flannelette sheets attempt to replace his body warmth, to keep me safe from the cold winter air, which to me, will never be as icy as my existence, as I come to realise that I have not only let him down, but myself to. This winter air always seemed cold but not as cold as his heart and mine existing as one. He has left me in comfort, I hope he is at ease and refreshed by all of this. I hope that if departure is what he needs that he finds satisfaction in those dreaded words and actions he so easily whispered into the distance as he walked away.
Despite how he has left me to feel, I honourably hope he encounters true happiness one day. For every relationship, someone is at a loss, and I would never wish for him to feel the way I currently do. Every experience in life brings a purpose, a moral and a lesson. My purpose is still questionable, I am let to learn or accept what he has given me in life, what our past will place in my hands some sort of enlightened future. I hope I gave him something worthy, I hope I have him a chance. Love should be spontaneous, but it is a mutual agreement to stand by one another through thick and thin. It is a chore but one worth cleaning up for. And I will never hold regrets; never forget that while time has now made us two, we were once one. He has sealed the chapter, but those blissful moments seemed so ceaseless, he will continuously be a key ingredient to who I am, and I anticipate that he will clutch a portion of me everlastingly. I will by no means escape sensation so vigorous, and as his smile gets misplaced in the days apart, as the lamentation diminishes to dust, my heart will never shake his crisp nature. He left gently, whilst my love will smoulder for all time. And I wish to make him content, but his pleasure will prolong exclusively, and it impairs me to acknowledge that I will be denied the chance to make him chuckle and grin in the impending days. My head is bursting with optimism, my heart filled with holes.
The blinds are closed to shadow the memories; I can see no light in the day. I have not taken down the photos of his face; I cannot bring myself to dilute him in my life. All his clothes are in a plastic bag, waiting for him to come take away his smell for good. Ash is spread across my desk; cigarettes clench my fingertips like he once did. Petrified to whiteness another day crammed with trepidation, and the contemplation that he will not be here to any further extent, I cannot close my eyes as all I see is his face. My eyes are inflamed and I speculate as to if I have been clasping onto a mislead foundation for far too long. It was my own blunder to be deceived by love, to assume he would in actuality be by my side, that he would not perjure himself or vacillate, to preserve fictitious hope for such an extended period. Every time I think I have progressed confidently, my requirement for him moves stealthily back in hoping for a flicker in drenched affiliation. I contemplate to whether there was causation, or if we were minimally a correlation. If our life is inscribed for us, and we were intended to meet and then depart ways, or if it just expelled out in that manner. I yearned for a lifetime of sanctuary, and what was black and white has warped to grey. And I don’t want to beg, but I am down on my knees, even though it is he who took too much time.
Despite how he has left me to feel, I honourably hope he encounters true happiness one day. For every relationship, someone is at a loss, and I would never wish for him to feel the way I currently do. Every experience in life brings a purpose, a moral and a lesson. My purpose is still questionable, I am let to learn or accept what he has given me in life, what our past will place in my hands some sort of enlightened future. I hope I gave him something worthy, I hope I have him a chance. Love should be spontaneous, but it is a mutual agreement to stand by one another through thick and thin. It is a chore but one worth cleaning up for. And I will never hold regrets; never forget that while time has now made us two, we were once one. He has sealed the chapter, but those blissful moments seemed so ceaseless, he will continuously be a key ingredient to who I am, and I anticipate that he will clutch a portion of me everlastingly. I will by no means escape sensation so vigorous, and as his smile gets misplaced in the days apart, as the lamentation diminishes to dust, my heart will never shake his crisp nature. He left gently, whilst my love will smoulder for all time. And I wish to make him content, but his pleasure will prolong exclusively, and it impairs me to acknowledge that I will be denied the chance to make him chuckle and grin in the impending days. My head is bursting with optimism, my heart filled with holes.
The blinds are closed to shadow the memories; I can see no light in the day. I have not taken down the photos of his face; I cannot bring myself to dilute him in my life. All his clothes are in a plastic bag, waiting for him to come take away his smell for good. Ash is spread across my desk; cigarettes clench my fingertips like he once did. Petrified to whiteness another day crammed with trepidation, and the contemplation that he will not be here to any further extent, I cannot close my eyes as all I see is his face. My eyes are inflamed and I speculate as to if I have been clasping onto a mislead foundation for far too long. It was my own blunder to be deceived by love, to assume he would in actuality be by my side, that he would not perjure himself or vacillate, to preserve fictitious hope for such an extended period. Every time I think I have progressed confidently, my requirement for him moves stealthily back in hoping for a flicker in drenched affiliation. I contemplate to whether there was causation, or if we were minimally a correlation. If our life is inscribed for us, and we were intended to meet and then depart ways, or if it just expelled out in that manner. I yearned for a lifetime of sanctuary, and what was black and white has warped to grey. And I don’t want to beg, but I am down on my knees, even though it is he who took too much time.
Women always fall faster, harder, and deeper in love than men do. Women contribute lacking indecision, and are eager to cherish a relationship, just to be thumped down by postponed dedication. We get lost in the compassionate words he verbalises and end up like a toy waiting to be thrown out. I never predicted the dead end. I spoke bitter words proclaiming hate, enraged by his actions and fowl misplay with my heart. I invested in his sincerity; his emotional detachment has left me bewildered. Questioning why I did not see clearer, that he was less interested in me, condemning me for insignificant endeavours. I will not be economical with the truth; there were instances in our relationship, which embraced horrendous episodes, so remarkable it will scar forever. He always proclaimed that I was not his type, and while we never meant for this to happen we cannot erase the past. I do not solitarily blame him. It takes two people to formulate a healthy relationship, and the same two people hold the power to destroy it. It is so hard for me to admit that I am not his princess - and he is not my price, and now I feel like I was composing a fairytale, that the relationship was based on fake concepts. Is there even such thing as a happy ending? Perhaps I was always living in a fantasyland, and he was trapped in reality. I always said what was on my mind, he always held back with his thoughts. I was clueless and it makes me nauseous, that I furnished my hopes away and watched them fall. The chapter has closed, but I still wish that we would discover each other one day. I feel so illumines, I understand what he says but I cannot voice how I feel. His quarrel is equitable, but it is too late for a sorry.
Perhaps I am looking into this situation to deeply, and maybe I will evolve to experience contentment once again, but as at present all I feel is guilt, distrust, agony and hate. Such vile sentiments submerged in love. And all I have to say to him is that he missed me while looking for him. Hopefully the fluorescents of envy we accumulated will surpass and one day we will be together. I was by no means the sort to permit my heart to be taken, and at the time of meeting he did not mean a thing. I am engulfed in the love. And this time I thought this time would be diverse, I don’t know when this came to place, I do not know if it was the first kiss, the first time he looked in my eyes, how did it go unobserved? And while I lost my grasp on life, I feel so sad that he is attaining more supremacy.
He came over today, I pledged to myself I would not cry. As I heard his car pull in my driveway, for which I thought would be the last time I took a deep breath and fixed my hair. I was so fragile, I squeezed him tight. Am I a fool for leasing my heart back? And I know we have some adjusting out to do, some impediments to smooth over, I know we have to centre individually, stride unaccompanied for a while. It constantly concludes in the same place we commenced at. He pronounces he does not recognise why it has gone on for so extensively, that zilch is of slight magnitude to any further extent, and his logical explanation for my tears is that he only verbalises truth. But he will never see my truth. It has been so extended, but he still does not comprehend what I want. I question if he is in effect is estimating as to what he wants. Everyday is the same day, we try and try, but it all ends the same. Is this a hint to give up, or to try harder? He revolutionizes his words to be fitting with his mood. He is so sightless and forged, but he feels misconstrued like the whole of humanity is against him. He wants to cherish what we had, but was what we had ever that good? And might is like a maybe, a word that will never give any justification, a portion of hope just waiting to be drown. And he would never run and never look back; he wouldn’t discard a tear when I howled. He did not shudder when he converged with my lips, and all I want is for him to hold me in his arms, linger by me forever. And while its two thirty in the morning, and I am hungry for my superman’s touch, longing for a kiss, a cuddle, he will never be mine. And all this wretchedness would not be here if merely he was. He will never know the sorrowfulness that my heart embraces. He never tried to reconciliation, he was continuously self-consumed and egotistical, imprisoned by his own precedents and by no means tolerating the jeopardy of a stride forward to the potential he could have embarked on with me.
The scotch spilled stains my carpet, the pain in my heart stings like cigarette smoke seeped into your eye. So enduring and unneeded, so unavoidable, but a mistake you have made which will lead to another tear shed, but there is no turning back and the only answer is to work through the agony until your body releases endorphins and you laugh at the whole matter. Why were you so stupid to light the flame and not flee before it drenched your eyeball? And these are the hardest goodbyes, a farewell that will last eternally. Such a strange phenomenon, to think that when they walk out of your life you may never see them again. And where will this person that was once the closest to you, end up? Will they fulfil their dreams or will they fall as hard as you did when they first looked you in the eye and promised you they would forever be by your side?
It has been a while since our last brawl. But here we are again, and I know it’s wrong to worship him, I question if I will ever pull through. He is swamping me with agony, but I know I will let myself descend, for just one more night to stroke his arm, to smell his aroma. I wish to go back to those days, when he let me gaze into his eyes, and plunge deep within his head. The bed sheets are still creased from where he lay, a love story plays out, but this fairytale has no happy ending. Those little voices encompass a heavy manipulative stance – so strong and enduring, I can no longer handle these foolish lies. The evil words tiptoe around the past decisions, which destroyed what we once had. Self-absorbed– an egotistical and lonely walk, so mindless and careless – this is not who I thought he was. His arms that once caressed me – my shelter from the big bad world – and I still do not know what to make of this. The devils work. Is god even watching over me these days? Or did he abandon me like my father did so very long ago? I pray for the answers, but will the truth just pull me deeper – down with the hope of contentment. Am I out of my mind, or will my persistence for the search of grey between the black and white enlighten me one of these days? He has seen the tears fall down my face, but still no room for compromise. He is much like my father in that respect. Selfish qualities succumb him, but no consequences. I always believed in karma, but here stands before me another man so arrogant and entrenched in evil doings – which still cannot see the pain they have caused – or can see it and is not willing to face it. There is no chance for a civil relationship.
I start to wonder how all this is going to leave my head. It puzzles me as to how I could be so foolish for so long, a bewilderment as to his questionable immoral pastimes, and what he judges to be witty, commonsensical and equitable is in actuality nauseating, discriminating, patronising, egocentric, crudeness and cutting. Brutality is a gratification, so permissible and effortlessly validated in his callous eyes. I still do not know if his intentions are to harm, or if it is a natural event for him to act as a mischievous sprite. He holds a distorted vision, an authentic infection, so sick of his chameleon act. Why does he lie? Why does he enjoy taking it all away from me? And just when I think my eyes are a dried up lake, the salty water falls speeding down my fragile face. So sick of shedding hopeless tears, such a waste of energy and I would like to say he cannot take anything from me, but he can take it all with a whisper of hate. Skipping freely round in circles, waiting to spew from a disastrous and heartfelt sickness, maybe then I will find comfort. And a simple message back, such a ghastly task for his useless fingertips. Or is it just I?
I start to wonder how all this is going to leave my head. It puzzles me as to how I could be so foolish for so long, a bewilderment as to his questionable immoral pastimes, and what he judges to be witty, commonsensical and equitable is in actuality nauseating, discriminating, patronising, egocentric, crudeness and cutting. Brutality is a gratification, so permissible and effortlessly validated in his callous eyes. I still do not know if his intentions are to harm, or if it is a natural event for him to act as a mischievous sprite. He holds a distorted vision, an authentic infection, so sick of his chameleon act. Why does he lie? Why does he enjoy taking it all away from me? And just when I think my eyes are a dried up lake, the salty water falls speeding down my fragile face. So sick of shedding hopeless tears, such a waste of energy and I would like to say he cannot take anything from me, but he can take it all with a whisper of hate. Skipping freely round in circles, waiting to spew from a disastrous and heartfelt sickness, maybe then I will find comfort. And a simple message back, such a ghastly task for his useless fingertips. Or is it just I?
It’s the middle of summer yet I am shivering. My veins are pumping blood enriched with violent, uncontrollable actions. These slender walls that encase my lonesome and forlorn self mark the good times with their photographs from the past. It is time to extract them down, but his smiling face looks intently at me. I wish I could see that smile again, and leap into those arms. But he is engulfed in his anger, a victim of his own paranoia just like myself. The coffee stain on the table, its barely nine in the morning and I have had cup full’s of the warm, milky, energy enriched, drink. My cigarette packet is almost unfilled, and it was only unsealed this morning. Broken brutally open to a catastrophic muddle like I have been. He phoned early, his words were so unkind and fallacious, but they were accurate to him. Manipulation and treachery, I thought he was better than that. I thought he was stronger and more intellectually capable of seeing straight, but he cannot pass those vile words that were spoken about me. The hot steamy water from the shower in which I cried for half an hour, for which I tried to think rationally is dripping dry from the heater. I am trying to find comfort in a bare room, with myself. But I hold no happiness, or pleasant emotion. I am not even here; my mind is blank yet running wild at the same time. I think I am losing it. Anger does that to me, it makes me rush with an unwarranted adrenalin. Sometimes I blank out, I wish I could blank out my whole past with him. Forget he ever touched my life the way he did. It turned so evil driven, so hurriedly. He let it descend, he let us plunge. But he will no longer be there to catch me. He will never see my face again. He thinks its probable that he will, in such a small town with such small-minded people who live of gossip, he is sure to hear how I am going. But I will never let anyone know how profound this metaphorical razor blade has cut me. I envy those who have never thought of suicide. How can their lives be so perfect? The picket fence, the husband, three children and a small dog. It’s all one big tell tale, so counterfeit, yet predominantly exists in this imprudent society. Realism is just a raincheck on the misapprehension. Everything is based on falsehood, but we are so foolish to see it and disregard it. Know one truly ever knows what is really going on, and if they do they turn there back so it willingly. Who wants to face the truth, who wants to face their issues? We all have predicaments. Life is not for the living, it is for the pretending. We are all pretenders. Human kinds biggest fear is vulnerability. Power and authority driven megalomaniacs, say what you want, its all in us.
Relationships are so problematic, because it’s based on communication, on trust, on being open and susceptible. Who ever will completely permit that to happen to themselves? It doesn’t work. Without secrets and hidden corridors, we can never sincerely live with one another. And the moment you let someone in, the arguing starts. Its ammunition to use against the person you so called “care” and “love”. But his actions speak louder than his words. His way of distancing himself, he does not want to get close, he is afraid and he always has been, but he can’t admit that. Saying goodbye is so hard. Always wondering what the other is thinking, and if they really can let go so easily and over something so miniscule and ridiculous. Maybe I never did know him? Did he ever try to understand and appreciate me, did he ever listen to what I said, and when I told him I loved him did he ever really believe me? Why and how can someone choose to ignore the truth?
Relationships are so problematic, because it’s based on communication, on trust, on being open and susceptible. Who ever will completely permit that to happen to themselves? It doesn’t work. Without secrets and hidden corridors, we can never sincerely live with one another. And the moment you let someone in, the arguing starts. Its ammunition to use against the person you so called “care” and “love”. But his actions speak louder than his words. His way of distancing himself, he does not want to get close, he is afraid and he always has been, but he can’t admit that. Saying goodbye is so hard. Always wondering what the other is thinking, and if they really can let go so easily and over something so miniscule and ridiculous. Maybe I never did know him? Did he ever try to understand and appreciate me, did he ever listen to what I said, and when I told him I loved him did he ever really believe me? Why and how can someone choose to ignore the truth?
Unaccompanied yet again. Vacant darkness clasping inexplicable desolation. And it is comprehensible that the ball has been thrown back at me, so swift I had no time to catch myself. To get a grip, I watched myself fall, but only after it had happened. And know one can save me from these consequences, but for once it was not me who screwed up. It was not me that jumped, I just fell and it hurts. I never knew what hurt more, self inflicted anger, hurt and distrust, the pain I caused on myself, or the pain that others caused on me. He hurt me, he betrayed me, another lie, and I am yet a fool again. Why do we put faith in others, in people we think we know, but we never really do? We never know anyone. We hide behind our denial to ignore those things we wish not to see in the ones we love, because we want to hold on so tight and never let go. To let go, would mean to be alone again, sooner than we would be alone when we finally have no choice but to face the truth, that these people are unfaithful and dishonest. I keep searching for a reason, a simple reason can be so comfortable, but there are no answers. He keeps repeating himself, nasty dirty words, pushing me down into a small corner. I don’t want to know myself anymore, and I am back at the beginning, how can tomorrow be a better day? And if I cant save myself, who can? Walking towards the future, the past still has such a strong presence. His accusations baffle me; his words cut deeper this time, deeper than before. How can pleasure turn so dark so quickly, sexual encounters are dirty, the dust of an ever-growing old relationship, the pain is so thick. And this room is empty, but I see him walking and smiling, I see him lying there in my bed when really he is walking away. Drifting down a river of tears, slander and detestation. And I probably should have realised now, but the realisation hurts. I wish I had the strength to drive away, a straight path to a better place, instead of running round in circles in this small town. Meaningless lives and futile beings, my neighbours and once upon a time friends, all just drowning in their own despair. A grown man turns into a little boy, crying inside searching for himself. Does he even want to face himself?
The truth hurts, but lies hurt more. The damage they cause, I am so confused and sick of these tears, and I could scratch my skin raw just to escape. I do not want to leave my room; I do not want to see the sun. My mother is screaming at me, everyone is screaming at me. Am I the one with all the issues, or am I just an easy target, so that other people do not need to face their own issues? He believes the lies he heard to be true, and nothing I say or do will change what he thinks. His strong willed mind, silently tortures him. The silence is killing me. I wish I could forget him, forget everything that we were, and everything that we should have been. A chosen amnesia, to blank out all that has been. It’s funny, how people can enter your life so quickly and have such a large impact and then leave just as quickly. And where will they be in ten years, where will I be? I know this pain will one day leave, but another let down will only replace it. His paranoia is destroying everything that he was, maybe it’s easier for him to blame me for things that never happened, than to face those occurrences, which did. His issues, which hide behind his delusion, his denial is killing me. He hates women because his mother cheated his father; he blames her for all the family issues. Did he ever consider that maybe his father had done something to push her? To jump, to take a chance at something greater. How was she to know it would all fall apart? I do not condone cheating, but there are always two sides to every story. Or maybe his trust issues lie in the fact that he had sex with his brother’s fiancé behind his back. Maybe he doesn’t hate me but hates that I know him too well for his liking. Regretting that he opened up to someone, and he is not comfortable with vulnerability. And now I am trying to fool myself that everything will be ok, that I can make it on my own. But I have doubts, and its not that I cant be without a man, but I feel like I have been searching for the perfect someone who just does not exist. My father was never there; maybe I am so foolish and easily manipulated by men cause I was never taught. Never had a strong father figure, and does my father feel remorse, or even understand what he has done to my mother and I. Questionable is to the motive of my actions. And I truly did love this man who now does not want to know me because he can’t face his own problems. My mother always told me that you cannot love anyone, until you love yourself. I think he hates himself. And I always tried to tell myself, nothing is a waste it’s all just a lesson learnt. But I am afraid that he was a lost cause from the beginning and I chose to blind myself. To see the good, instead of the bad. So true and hateful. And all those photographs that hold one thousand words each, words of passion and love, a waste of space, its time to take them off the walls. A disgraceful and unwarranted happening, I can’t believe it has come to this. I feel so far away, I feel like I will not be able to find my way. He wants to go, so who am I to hold him back. Who am I to let myself hold onto something that has died? Who am I going to turn to, whenever I am distressed? I will never feel his body warmth again, and I am so disappointed in him, that while I will never forget about him, I cant possibly keep caring for someone who never cared about me, who let me live a lie for so long. And the flame has died out, the champagne glass is smashed across my bedroom floor, this anger is so destructive, but he was the one who chose to destroy everything that ever was.
The truth hurts, but lies hurt more. The damage they cause, I am so confused and sick of these tears, and I could scratch my skin raw just to escape. I do not want to leave my room; I do not want to see the sun. My mother is screaming at me, everyone is screaming at me. Am I the one with all the issues, or am I just an easy target, so that other people do not need to face their own issues? He believes the lies he heard to be true, and nothing I say or do will change what he thinks. His strong willed mind, silently tortures him. The silence is killing me. I wish I could forget him, forget everything that we were, and everything that we should have been. A chosen amnesia, to blank out all that has been. It’s funny, how people can enter your life so quickly and have such a large impact and then leave just as quickly. And where will they be in ten years, where will I be? I know this pain will one day leave, but another let down will only replace it. His paranoia is destroying everything that he was, maybe it’s easier for him to blame me for things that never happened, than to face those occurrences, which did. His issues, which hide behind his delusion, his denial is killing me. He hates women because his mother cheated his father; he blames her for all the family issues. Did he ever consider that maybe his father had done something to push her? To jump, to take a chance at something greater. How was she to know it would all fall apart? I do not condone cheating, but there are always two sides to every story. Or maybe his trust issues lie in the fact that he had sex with his brother’s fiancé behind his back. Maybe he doesn’t hate me but hates that I know him too well for his liking. Regretting that he opened up to someone, and he is not comfortable with vulnerability. And now I am trying to fool myself that everything will be ok, that I can make it on my own. But I have doubts, and its not that I cant be without a man, but I feel like I have been searching for the perfect someone who just does not exist. My father was never there; maybe I am so foolish and easily manipulated by men cause I was never taught. Never had a strong father figure, and does my father feel remorse, or even understand what he has done to my mother and I. Questionable is to the motive of my actions. And I truly did love this man who now does not want to know me because he can’t face his own problems. My mother always told me that you cannot love anyone, until you love yourself. I think he hates himself. And I always tried to tell myself, nothing is a waste it’s all just a lesson learnt. But I am afraid that he was a lost cause from the beginning and I chose to blind myself. To see the good, instead of the bad. So true and hateful. And all those photographs that hold one thousand words each, words of passion and love, a waste of space, its time to take them off the walls. A disgraceful and unwarranted happening, I can’t believe it has come to this. I feel so far away, I feel like I will not be able to find my way. He wants to go, so who am I to hold him back. Who am I to let myself hold onto something that has died? Who am I going to turn to, whenever I am distressed? I will never feel his body warmth again, and I am so disappointed in him, that while I will never forget about him, I cant possibly keep caring for someone who never cared about me, who let me live a lie for so long. And the flame has died out, the champagne glass is smashed across my bedroom floor, this anger is so destructive, but he was the one who chose to destroy everything that ever was.
We use words so freely, and get so caught up in the moment that we never think of the consequences. And he hates me now, but did he ever think that I will not be there in the future when he realises he has made a mistake. I will not be there; I cannot let myself be held back even if it hurts to walk away. But he ran away, as he did not want to face the problems. And it may be easier to turn his back, but I will never forget, and forgiveness can only go so far. I am living and breathing a hell, I am nothing, nobody important. I sit in my room lonely, crying, devastated hating myself for things I didn’t even do. And I never knew him cause I never even knew myself. My mother is in the other room; I want to lock the world out. I am sick of the yelling, the silent laughing. I can picture their faces; I can see their lips moving, talking bullshit about me when they never knew me at all. Strange faces and sounds, and he tell me it would be the best if I left this tiny town – not just for him but also for them all. And who is “they” anyways, his tiny voices inside his brainless head. And he is living a lie, and sometimes I wish I could be like him, be so blind and ignorant. I wish I could not see the chain of events, the circle of untruthful words that I see. I feel dirty, used and so alone. And at this stage, being alone has its advantages. No pain, just a happy song, and I can go on my way. I want to drive and never come back, never look back. Never wonder where he is and what he is doing, or how he is. I hope he is ok, even after all of this. And I do not wish him luck in his future relationships; if he can even get one cause he can’t even hold a relationship with himself. And I know I should not care. I know it seems like I am driven on anger and jealously now, but I will not admit to those sinful emotions. And what seemed like a gift, my angel, my everything has turned to dust on what is now an empty photo frame. Keep asking myself the same questions, questions that will never be answered as we go over and over again in the same circle. I can already see what is coming tomorrow. I know what he will say if I answer the phone, and I wish I could find it in me to ignore his attempt to contact me, but I don’t have it in me, I am weak now, hopeless and alone with a scotch glass. He should be in my bed now, he should have tucked me in. the sheets are colder without his warmth; my heart is colder without his love. And if he ever did mean it, mean those few kind words, I am glad I let myself go, let myself fall deep into the trueness of him. But it all just seems so fake now, so wasteful and lost. It is as if I am living the climax of a love story, waiting for my happy ending. But it will never come. And they will all tell me how great I am, that I am lucky and a new love will blossom in time, but the old one wont fade out. Its been trying to fade for so long now. And I feel so desperate, so low and this distress has accumulated into something bigger than a heartbreak. He is hours away literally, but so much further away in my mind. I wonder where his head is. Why did this have to end?
It’s the middle of summer yet I am shivering. My veins are pumping blood enriched with violent, uncontrollable actions. These thin walls that surround my lonesome self mark the good times with their photographs from the past. It is time to pull them down, but his smiling face embraces me. I wish I could see that smile again, and leap into those arms. But he is engulfed in his anger, a victim of his own paranoia just like myself. The coffee stain on the table, its barely nine am and I have had cup full’s of the warm milky energy enriched drink. My cigarette packet is almost empty, and it was only unsealed this morning. Unsealed to a disastrous mess like I have been. He phoned early, his words were so unkind and untrue, but they were true to him. Manipulation and deceit, I thought he was better than that. I thought he was stronger and more intelligent, but he cannot pass those hateful words that were spoken about me. The hot steamy water from the shower in which I cried for half an hour, for which I tried to think rationally is dripping dry from the heater. I am trying to find comfort in an empty room, with myself. But I hold no happiness, or pleasant emotion. I am not even here; my mind is blank yet running wild at the same time. I think I am losing it. Anger does that to me, it makes me rush with an unwarranted adrenalin. Sometimes I blank out, I wish I could blank out my whole past with him. Forget he ever touched my life the way he did. It turned so bad, so quickly. He let it fall, he let us fall. But he will no longer be there to catch me. He will never see my face again. He thinks its probable that he will, in such a small town with such small-minded people who live of gossip, he is sure to hear how I am going. But I will never let anyone know how deep this blade has cut me. I envy those who have never thought of suicide. How can their lives be so perfect? The picket fence, the husband, three children and dog. It’s all one big lie, so fake. Reality is just a raincheck on the illusion. Everything is a lie, but we are so foolish to see it. Know one truly ever knows what is really going on, and if they do they turn there back to it willingly. Who wants to face the truth, who wants to face their issues? We all have issues, life is not for the living, and it is for the pretending. We are all pretenders. Human kinds biggest fear is vulnerability. Power and authority driven megalomaniacs, say what you want, its all in us. Relationships are so problematic, because it’s based on communication, on trust, on being open and vulnerable. Who ever will completely allow that to happen to themselves? It doesn’t work. Without secrets and hidden corridors, we can never truly be ourselves. And the moment you let someone in, the arguing starts. Its ammunition to use against the person you so called “care” and “love”. But his actions speak louder than his words. His way of distancing himself, he does not want to get close, he is afraid and he always has been, but he can’t admit that. Saying goodbye is so hard. Always wondering what the other is thinking, and if they really can let go so easily and over something so miniscule and ridiculous. Maybe I never did know him? Did he ever try to understand me, did he ever listen to what I said, when I told him I loved him did he ever really believe me? Why and how can someone choose to ignore the truth?
Unaccompanied yet again. Vacant darkness clasping inexplicable desolation. And it is comprehensible that the ball has been thrown back at me, so swift I had no time to catch myself. To get a grip, I watched myself fall, but only after it had happened. And know one can save me from these consequences, but for once it was not me who screwed up. It was not me that jumped, I just fell and it hurts. I never knew what hurt more, self inflicted anger, hurt and distrust, the pain I caused on myself, or the pain that others caused on me. He hurt me, he betrayed me, another lie, and I am yet a fool again. Why do we put faith in others, in people we think we know, but we never really do? We never know anyone. We hide behind our denial to ignore those things we wish not to see in the ones we love, because we want to hold on so tight and never let go. To let go, would mean to be alone again, sooner than we would be alone when we finally have no choice but to face the truth, that these people are unfaithful and dishonest. I keep searching for a reason, a simple reason can be so comfortable, but there are no answers. He keeps repeating himself, nasty dirty words, pushing me down into a small corner. I don’t want to know myself anymore, and I am back at the beginning, how can tomorrow be a better day? And if I cant save myself, who can? Walking towards the future, the past still has such a strong presence. His accusations baffle me; his words cut deeper this time, deeper than before. How can pleasure turn so dark so quickly, sexual encounters are dirty, the dust of an ever-growing old relationship, the pain is so thick. And this room is empty, but I see him walking and smiling, I see him lying there in my bed when really he is walking away. Drifting down a river of tears, slander and detestation. And I probably should have realised now, but the realisation hurts. I wish I had the strength to drive away, a straight path to a better place, instead of running round in circles in this small town. Meaningless lives and futile beings, my neighbours and once upon a time friends, all just drowning in their own despair. A grown man turns into a little boy, crying inside searching for himself. Does he even want to face himself? The truth hurts, but lies hurt more. The damage they cause, I am so confused and sick of these tears, and I could scratch my skin raw just to escape. I do not want to leave my room; I do not want to see the sun. My mother is screaming at me, everyone is screaming at me. Am I the one with all the issues, or am I just an easy target, so that other people do not need to face their own issues? He believes the lies he heard to be true, and nothing I say or do will change what he thinks. His strong willed mind, silently tortures him. The silence is killing me. I wish I could forget him, forget everything that we were, and everything that we should have been. A chosen amnesia, to blank out all that has been. It’s funny, how people can enter your life so quickly and have such a large impact and then leave just as quickly. And where will they be in ten years, where will I be? I know this pain will one day leave, but another let down will only replace it. His paranoia is destroying everything that he was, maybe it’s easier for him to blame me for things that never happened, than to face those occurrences, which did. His issues, which hide behind his delusion, his denial is killing me. He hates women because his mother cheated his father; he blames her for all the family issues. Did he ever consider that maybe his father had done something to push her? To jump, to take a chance at something greater. How was she to know it would all fall apart? I do not condone cheating, but there are always two sides to every story. Or maybe his trust issues lie in the fact that he had sex with his brother’s fiancé behind his back. Maybe he doesn’t hate me but hates that I know him too well for his liking. Regretting that he opened up to someone, and he is not comfortable with vulnerability. And now I am trying to fool myself that everything will be ok, that I can make it on my own. But I have doubts, and its not that I cant be without a man, but I feel like I have been searching for the perfect someone who just does not exist. My father was never there; maybe I am so foolish and easily manipulated by men cause I was never taught. Never had a strong father figure, and does my father feel remorse, or even understand what he has done to my mother and I. Questionable is to the motive of my actions. And I truly did love this man who now does not want to know me because he can’t face his own problems. My mother always told me that you cannot love anyone, until you love yourself. I think he hates himself. And I always tried to tell myself, nothing is a waste it’s all just a lesson learnt. But I am afraid that he was a lost cause from the beginning and I chose to blind myself. To see the good, instead of the bad. So true and hateful. And all those photographs that hold one thousand words each, words of passion and love, a waste of space, its time to take them off the walls. A disgraceful and unwarranted happening, I can’t believe it has come to this. I feel so far away, I feel like I will not be able to find my way. He wants to go, so who am I to hold him back. Who am I to let myself hold onto something that has died. Who am I going to turn to, whenever I am distressed? I will never feel his body warmth again, and I am so disappointed in him, that while I will never forget about him, I cant possibly keep caring for someone who never cared about me, who let me live a lie for so long. And the flame has died out, the champagne glass is smashed across my bedroom floor, this anger is so destructive, but he was the one who chose to destroy everything that ever was.
We use words so freely, and get so caught up in the moment that we never think of the consequences. And he hates me now, but did he ever think that I will not be there in the future when he realises he has made a mistake. I will not be there, I cannot let myself be held back even if it hurts to walk away. But he ran away, as he did not want to face the problems. And it may be easier to turn his back, but I will never forget, and forgiveness can only go so far.
It cuts her like a malady of impairment, a malicious interference, and the unstable equilibrium that she begets on herself. Her spirit presently raw and sapped. The persistence of her fragile intellect has torn her, all rationality and emotional stability has departed her once content soul. Now left vacant, she is unbalanced and her inner stimuli is lacking. The sensation of love so hastily evolved to numbness, she feels nothing as she walks down this ominous rhetorical passageway. The ecstasy of his touch, candour and empathy, vanished when he sauntered out that door. He by no means took the threat of glancing back, to see her puffy eyes, and dripping eyeliner down her face. The fresh photographs on the wall, they remind her of a time when all was faultless, contended and honest. She knows she will never feel the divinity of his lips pressed against hers again, or succumb to his seductive eyes and fingertips as they trace up and down her fragile flesh. Her overindulgence in thinking too much, this selfishness – so satanic. A cocktail of deceit, disloyalty and revulsion. This has now become a quest for sought-after amnesia. An investment to abandon all prejudice in this diminishing affiliation. Like an extraterrestrial delusive being, all emotional senses have vanquished. His slothful endeavour to conceal his stray sexual encounters, have been detrimental to her. The alluring attraction of temptation, the forbidden fruit. To embrace what you shouldn’t have, to give in to your diminutive portion of syrupy iniquity – always fascinated her. Faithfulness is so tedious, dreary and conventional. She is seated in her bedroom, the blinds closed hard shut, and she finds consolation in the bleak unoccupied shadows. She is still wounded, missing him, yearning for him back. He won’t come back. His incapability to refrain from adulterous activity, his hunger for fast sex, to taste the prohibited, to tempt the providence, to succeed at the match, to not be caught.
Like a game of cat and mouse in this sticky self indulgent and fake love, he thinks he is the cat and she the mouse. But she knows better. Manipulation and interrogation, to fool the other into a guilty consciousness. The poison tastes so delicious. She feels like snow white and he her apple. So rich and enthralling, the wickedness hidden unfathomable at the core. The red wine has stained her luscious lips, and with a cigarette clenched between her fingertips, she recalls her pernicious demeanour. His compulsion for adrenalin, his child-like tantrums of envy and subconscious terror, his necessity for supremacy and repetitive imprudence, his lack of any commonsense sequencing, his emotional absence – all factors contributing to her misery. His innermost trepidation – devotion is an ambush pulling him into confinement. But he is already trapped within himself, his own head imprisoning the key, but acknowledgement of his identifiable predicaments is problematic for him. His magnetism vibrates through her brainwave, as she evokes the first time they encountered.
A drunken stumble, a fleeting, hesitant handshake, an improbable assemblage of individuals, and an abrupt kiss goodbye. If only the departure had been perpetual. Two pleasurable, amusing, affectionate, heart-rending, theatrical and treacherous years later - she is at a standstill, wishing she could rewrite that unanticipated adverse night. Perchance it was just ill timed, a rapport that was intended to be a composition of harmony and bliss, of eternal understanding and allegiance, which just came to quick. It hit her out of know where, she was fine being unaccompanied, being selfish, juvenile and boundless. Her unanswered prayers, her pursuit for the obscure significance to all her uncertainties, to her failure and nuisances, so predominant yet she refuses to depict her feebleness for him. The toxicity of the bond, the spiritual sickness, the infectious sentiment of anxiety and despair. The ultimate disease lies within the most passionate phenomenon. She pines for his affection and love, but she knows too well it is lost in his clenched fists. The amiable and merriment times spent together were intense. Nevertheless the arguments, the bickering, the evil word speak and callous actions soon outweighed those giggles and cuddles. She is suffering, stuck in thick, muddy guilt. While she is thwarted in him for straying from her, she is more disillusioned by her own unclean deeds. Her hypocrisy haunts her, but she cannot come clean to him about her misdemeanours, as she cannot even confess to herself. She hates to be so economical with the truth, but she still believes her fibs to be no worse than his. If she could saviour the love that they once shared, the gratification and complexity-free relationship, she would. But still clinching to her denial, there is no room to reposition her heart to a healthier locality. Ignorance is brusquely present, selective hearing and unlovable characteristics brutally strain their happiness.
Their relationship stenches of egotistical, self-centred, excessively arrogant substance – neither will assert they are erroneous. They are too engaged in dispute for the last word. A waste really, as they both are lying, not only to one another but also to themselves. She articulates she desires for him to be absent from her existence that she is done with him and becomes nauseous when perceiving the sound of his voice. But when the phone hangs up, she is curled up in a ball crying on her bed – in the sheets where he once lay. She speculates as to where they took the wrong turn, the flame has burnt out and like a bird without wings she is misplaced, immovable and mystified. She was too occupied struggling to read amid the lines when all she had to do was look right in front of her and see that his irrational fear, his odium, his bitterness and nervousness were all acts of transparency, he was striving to do his best all along. She queries as to if it is her own doing, if it is her insecurities that are the reckoning to his paramount falling so short. The games they play, placing blameworthiness on one another is the reason for the plunge. Really they both jumped – scarcely at unlike instances. She contemplates as to what could have been if they had taken the leap holding hands and if they would have saved each other from themselves. She is beginning to comprehend this small town has driven them into the minuscule corner, but they have know one else to impugn but themselves for electing divergent trimmings of the slender rope by which they suspend. So frenzied by abhorrence and annoyance, they are both trying to be valiant, to conceal from one another that they are really troubled of tomorrow. Tomorrow, they wont see each other’s faces again. The nights are so lonesome, but their fraudulence meant that they were always unaided anyway. She would rather be unaccompanied with him by her side. They chose to disregard their sentiment, they have scamper themselves dry. They thought it would be easier to walk away, than to work things out. To be candid for an amend. They are more like each other than they want to divulge. Neither of them deems that they are misguided, or that the other might have a unassailable quarrel. Their vivid imaginations prematurely obliterating any factual sense.
Like a possessed fiend, he had been overhauled by indictments, his nomadic mind’s eye fuzzy with unthinking negative presumptions. They say that they hate the squabbling, yet there is a fraction in each of them that takes pleasure in the hostility with each other, it is after all the preeminent interruption from skirmishing with themselves. And she does not know how to retort to his confronting statements, she does not want to believe them to be true. And there is nothing more that he can take away from her. It has all been and gone, and she is even now wishing she had caught herself before she fell. A void armour, and all those things she should have said, the possibility is no longer there. She should have been sharper, it is gruelling for her to memorize what was. Her immeasurable clemency toward him is a silent yet intensely profound fragility. Yet her sincerity for him, she knows if he were ever to detect, would instantaneously become his forte over her. Conceivably, his covert to his effortless capability to abandon her, is that he comprehends that she will for eternity be there for him. That she cannot possibly disregard him, overlooks him, or loathes him.
Like a game of cat and mouse in this sticky self indulgent and fake love, he thinks he is the cat and she the mouse. But she knows better. Manipulation and interrogation, to fool the other into a guilty consciousness. The poison tastes so delicious. She feels like snow white and he her apple. So rich and enthralling, the wickedness hidden unfathomable at the core. The red wine has stained her luscious lips, and with a cigarette clenched between her fingertips, she recalls her pernicious demeanour. His compulsion for adrenalin, his child-like tantrums of envy and subconscious terror, his necessity for supremacy and repetitive imprudence, his lack of any commonsense sequencing, his emotional absence – all factors contributing to her misery. His innermost trepidation – devotion is an ambush pulling him into confinement. But he is already trapped within himself, his own head imprisoning the key, but acknowledgement of his identifiable predicaments is problematic for him. His magnetism vibrates through her brainwave, as she evokes the first time they encountered.
A drunken stumble, a fleeting, hesitant handshake, an improbable assemblage of individuals, and an abrupt kiss goodbye. If only the departure had been perpetual. Two pleasurable, amusing, affectionate, heart-rending, theatrical and treacherous years later - she is at a standstill, wishing she could rewrite that unanticipated adverse night. Perchance it was just ill timed, a rapport that was intended to be a composition of harmony and bliss, of eternal understanding and allegiance, which just came to quick. It hit her out of know where, she was fine being unaccompanied, being selfish, juvenile and boundless. Her unanswered prayers, her pursuit for the obscure significance to all her uncertainties, to her failure and nuisances, so predominant yet she refuses to depict her feebleness for him. The toxicity of the bond, the spiritual sickness, the infectious sentiment of anxiety and despair. The ultimate disease lies within the most passionate phenomenon. She pines for his affection and love, but she knows too well it is lost in his clenched fists. The amiable and merriment times spent together were intense. Nevertheless the arguments, the bickering, the evil word speak and callous actions soon outweighed those giggles and cuddles. She is suffering, stuck in thick, muddy guilt. While she is thwarted in him for straying from her, she is more disillusioned by her own unclean deeds. Her hypocrisy haunts her, but she cannot come clean to him about her misdemeanours, as she cannot even confess to herself. She hates to be so economical with the truth, but she still believes her fibs to be no worse than his. If she could saviour the love that they once shared, the gratification and complexity-free relationship, she would. But still clinching to her denial, there is no room to reposition her heart to a healthier locality. Ignorance is brusquely present, selective hearing and unlovable characteristics brutally strain their happiness.
Their relationship stenches of egotistical, self-centred, excessively arrogant substance – neither will assert they are erroneous. They are too engaged in dispute for the last word. A waste really, as they both are lying, not only to one another but also to themselves. She articulates she desires for him to be absent from her existence that she is done with him and becomes nauseous when perceiving the sound of his voice. But when the phone hangs up, she is curled up in a ball crying on her bed – in the sheets where he once lay. She speculates as to where they took the wrong turn, the flame has burnt out and like a bird without wings she is misplaced, immovable and mystified. She was too occupied struggling to read amid the lines when all she had to do was look right in front of her and see that his irrational fear, his odium, his bitterness and nervousness were all acts of transparency, he was striving to do his best all along. She queries as to if it is her own doing, if it is her insecurities that are the reckoning to his paramount falling so short. The games they play, placing blameworthiness on one another is the reason for the plunge. Really they both jumped – scarcely at unlike instances. She contemplates as to what could have been if they had taken the leap holding hands and if they would have saved each other from themselves. She is beginning to comprehend this small town has driven them into the minuscule corner, but they have know one else to impugn but themselves for electing divergent trimmings of the slender rope by which they suspend. So frenzied by abhorrence and annoyance, they are both trying to be valiant, to conceal from one another that they are really troubled of tomorrow. Tomorrow, they wont see each other’s faces again. The nights are so lonesome, but their fraudulence meant that they were always unaided anyway. She would rather be unaccompanied with him by her side. They chose to disregard their sentiment, they have scamper themselves dry. They thought it would be easier to walk away, than to work things out. To be candid for an amend. They are more like each other than they want to divulge. Neither of them deems that they are misguided, or that the other might have a unassailable quarrel. Their vivid imaginations prematurely obliterating any factual sense.
Like a possessed fiend, he had been overhauled by indictments, his nomadic mind’s eye fuzzy with unthinking negative presumptions. They say that they hate the squabbling, yet there is a fraction in each of them that takes pleasure in the hostility with each other, it is after all the preeminent interruption from skirmishing with themselves. And she does not know how to retort to his confronting statements, she does not want to believe them to be true. And there is nothing more that he can take away from her. It has all been and gone, and she is even now wishing she had caught herself before she fell. A void armour, and all those things she should have said, the possibility is no longer there. She should have been sharper, it is gruelling for her to memorize what was. Her immeasurable clemency toward him is a silent yet intensely profound fragility. Yet her sincerity for him, she knows if he were ever to detect, would instantaneously become his forte over her. Conceivably, his covert to his effortless capability to abandon her, is that he comprehends that she will for eternity be there for him. That she cannot possibly disregard him, overlooks him, or loathes him.
If only they could locate that extraordinary intrinsic worth and exceptional individuality in one another which they preliminarily fell in love with. Drowning in sorrowfulness, while so discouraging, it is humorous that they mislaid themselves in their guilt. Always staring beyond herself in the mirror, she is motionlessly sitting in the unchanged corner, waiting for the day that this will all be concluded. The concentrated tenderness, the ceaseless silent screeching, visioning herself thrashing at her own silhouette, her dreamtime that was once an escape has been hauled away from her. Looking intensely into his eyes probing for his gentleness, she is in actuality gawking at herself. Starting to appreciate what she everlastingly deep down knew, that she condemned herself when she authorised her arrogance to play such a weighty role. Opaque obstinacy inhibiting her from revealing to him how she in reality felt. And if only she had be forthright with him in the commencement of the expedition, plausibly they would not have been so fated into dissonance. She dredges up so visibly the enchanting encounters, but the psychosis, the lunacy that over empowered them. The bodily contusions however, do not compute up to the weight of the lesions she keeps veiled bottomless, contained by her tender fleshy tissue. But she pleas with herself, that the best was tried, in so many ways she articulated her love for him. She does not want to admit, that in so many ways she also held herself back. It was always clear he was scared to love and to be loved. His trust issues were always open for her to see. Always filled with anxiousness with what he was thinking, over analysing and accepting as true that he by no means ever hankered for her, not one microscopic fragment, not at all. But by concentrating on him, she was unsuccessful to deal with her underlying quandaries. Such a desperate necessitate to have a father to adore and care for her, she went investigating in all the ungrammatical locations. They under no circumstances discontinued the warfare to acquire a breath, to establish that inside the square was a circle, that they both had the equivalent assurance dilemma. And she use to be capable of interpreting his every move, better than what he could himself. No vocal expression was crucial, a rapid exertion to bury his interior considerations as he squished his face into the pillow. She aspired that they would make it through, but now she conjectures when she will express amusement yet again.
The alike squabble engaged in over and over again, and the stillness is assassinating her. Indulging in her cigarettes and scotch to pass the time, she won’t illustrate remorsefulness, to her any act of contrition is a mode of defencelessness. Her amateur dramatics, her ballet of fabrication and being disobedient were her ways of absconding herself, and she appeals to herself that if he had just remunerated wakefulness to her, if he had just taken her by the hand, this talk back, this infantile wrestle would not have persisted for as elongated as it has. And after all this, neither of them ever got what they were asking for. They were too broken individually, and two destroyed souls in essence of each other was never going to work. This precipitate existence, she marvels as to if they were ever truly united, or if it was just a convenient acquaintanceship for which they both lay side by side, but never took the time to know one another. A partnership ice-covered by a soar of evocative possibility of triumph, which twisted down a narrow channel, into a fanatical off track train. She does now know what to presuppose, concluding in on her are the skeletal fortifications of repugnance. Nevertheless, the monotonous, rhythmic, merciless reminiscences have no right to residence in her head. Any remaining expectation of exultant mutuality correlating the two, which was in the vicinity of wherewithal to clutch on to, must be frayed away and endorsed to elapse. And now they are alone, with weight on their minds, still striving for the truth. And while she pronounces that she wishes for the facts even if it wounds her, she in actuality necessitates for his integrity to be in awe of hers, that this is not terminated, that this is not another departure in the driveway. What was for the most part material - like him imminent to her rescue when her insecurities overcome her, informing her that he cares and meaning it - she never made verbally apparent to him and this shatters her. But it is too late, she now must get there alone, stand up without him as her crutches to maintain her balance in this uneven walk of life.
And this sensitivity of dread encompassing her, she must not give into it. She now knows she must find her feet. She has come to admit that she will always love him until her essence turns to corrosion, and all that was compulsory for her to know, for him to stay for time without end, does no longer linger to be of any substance. And the most durable separation for her to converse, as she snivels the last sniffle that is outstanding in her, she finally comes to terms with her own imprudent counterfeit performance in this once idyllic involvement. As she conclusively strides absent from her entrapment, the precedence, the mourning, she appreciates that she would be insincere if she were to inform him that she would forever be readily available for him. Those affections she considered she would unendingly comprise, are deteriorating as she commences to encompass a petite yet momentous, shaft of light and eliminate the filth of the bond from her shoulder. He once was her saviour, but now she must resuscitate herself, no requirement to the canopy that was so hurriedly fasten compact, to obtain down those photographs, to onslaught his cupboard – to ultimately transfer on from what should have departed from her times of yore so elongated beforehand.
The alike squabble engaged in over and over again, and the stillness is assassinating her. Indulging in her cigarettes and scotch to pass the time, she won’t illustrate remorsefulness, to her any act of contrition is a mode of defencelessness. Her amateur dramatics, her ballet of fabrication and being disobedient were her ways of absconding herself, and she appeals to herself that if he had just remunerated wakefulness to her, if he had just taken her by the hand, this talk back, this infantile wrestle would not have persisted for as elongated as it has. And after all this, neither of them ever got what they were asking for. They were too broken individually, and two destroyed souls in essence of each other was never going to work. This precipitate existence, she marvels as to if they were ever truly united, or if it was just a convenient acquaintanceship for which they both lay side by side, but never took the time to know one another. A partnership ice-covered by a soar of evocative possibility of triumph, which twisted down a narrow channel, into a fanatical off track train. She does now know what to presuppose, concluding in on her are the skeletal fortifications of repugnance. Nevertheless, the monotonous, rhythmic, merciless reminiscences have no right to residence in her head. Any remaining expectation of exultant mutuality correlating the two, which was in the vicinity of wherewithal to clutch on to, must be frayed away and endorsed to elapse. And now they are alone, with weight on their minds, still striving for the truth. And while she pronounces that she wishes for the facts even if it wounds her, she in actuality necessitates for his integrity to be in awe of hers, that this is not terminated, that this is not another departure in the driveway. What was for the most part material - like him imminent to her rescue when her insecurities overcome her, informing her that he cares and meaning it - she never made verbally apparent to him and this shatters her. But it is too late, she now must get there alone, stand up without him as her crutches to maintain her balance in this uneven walk of life.
And this sensitivity of dread encompassing her, she must not give into it. She now knows she must find her feet. She has come to admit that she will always love him until her essence turns to corrosion, and all that was compulsory for her to know, for him to stay for time without end, does no longer linger to be of any substance. And the most durable separation for her to converse, as she snivels the last sniffle that is outstanding in her, she finally comes to terms with her own imprudent counterfeit performance in this once idyllic involvement. As she conclusively strides absent from her entrapment, the precedence, the mourning, she appreciates that she would be insincere if she were to inform him that she would forever be readily available for him. Those affections she considered she would unendingly comprise, are deteriorating as she commences to encompass a petite yet momentous, shaft of light and eliminate the filth of the bond from her shoulder. He once was her saviour, but now she must resuscitate herself, no requirement to the canopy that was so hurriedly fasten compact, to obtain down those photographs, to onslaught his cupboard – to ultimately transfer on from what should have departed from her times of yore so elongated beforehand.
Life goes on after you.
wow your blog is really good :)
ReplyDeleteI'm gonna follow it :D
would be glad if you'd return the favour
http://kathleencosgravesblog.blogspot.com
:)
Hey, Glad you like it.... i have already had a look at yours... I really enjoy reading your blog. so good. and so true. x
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