from slumber i wake and know not why i still feel under the influence.

this is one line that has to be drawn. have lost enough sleep over it as it is.

basta

my heart settled on you when i was not looking. i should probably take it back lest i need it later. so i was right – it is damn near impossible for me to fall in love and when i do it is damn near impossible to fall out of it. damn. stubborn and stupid. how could i have arrived at such a combination in rearranging my head. to the detriment of my head and my heart.

have been reading the same page 50 times over and so far i have not made sense of it. the right temple decides to add to the fray with an unabated tension that persists in its stupidity as much as i. this is the glorious end to the year which had begun so brilliantly – an empty cavity, a realization that am irreversibly daft and have the temperament of a mule. suppose that finding out what i want to do pales in comparison to the vibrant wounds i have unwittingly pried open with a blunt knife. the oversized drama aside

everything i have to give i will give to you

you will shelter me my love

i will shelter you, because you will shelter me too

write. so right it will be. here i sit trying to convince myself of why it’s best. if i never see your face again, i will never have to forget you again. perhaps that is for the best. my heart protests but soon the resistance will be quelled and no more will it stir. stupidity overrides reason, for whatever reason. it’s august all over again.

think leaving would be best. so i can stop this wandering of the mind. it will not be tamed. neither will my heart. so softly it waits for an absolution that will never come. for that is a lesson it will stubbornly unlearn time and again. for people who leave an indelible mark. thank you. at least i know my heart still works.

castles, illusions, hypotheticals by any other name would be the reason why i am. time to strip off the illusion. perhaps it’s time to heed the call of the present.

for people who’ve been in my life longer than i remember. for all the crazy and painful in-betweens. thank you.

you know who you are.

think the turning of the year sobers me. perhaps a good thing.

perhaps will be intoxicated come 8th december

my temper has run away with me again. am quick to judge, quick to spark, quick to realize how stupid it all was. and the absurd stares me down again. am excited, agitated, irritable and happy all at once. not certain if it stems from the stress of the situation or that am losing my mind. perhaps the latter. for then i can say whatever and feel no remorse, no shame, no fear, no sense of propriety. nay. tis merely an excuse. to masquerade disdain as honesty would be a travesty and merely an excuse. my head is aswimming with words, with emotions with hypothetical situations that play and are rehashed over and over, tweaking details as i go along but always eliciting the same emotions in the pit of the stomach. know not why. nay i lie. i know why. i know who and what. he reminds me….

i play the fool for no reason other than to play the fool. a fyodor i have become. i will cease the play. i need to. there is no sense in it. you neither attack nor assault but this facade i keep up because to reveal the disdain would be unthinkable. so i shall ornament, gaudy, ostentatious trimming for the holiday season. nay i have become spiteful for the deprivation. nay i have not but i am bored and in that boredom i create, fabricate, invent and mull in the void to occupy my time. to create out of nothingness something to gawk at. fie!

fee fie foe fum words that could mean but say nothing. perhaps an emotion they could express. perhaps i shall return to the books. there is much to be done.

i am a pendulum.

have not felt this way in a while. perhaps i have but have buried it under a million things so that i may forget so that she would forget and hope that that semblance of normalcy will suffice. that she understands. nay i lie to myself. i will be that prodigal daughter for them because i’m not there, because i want a life of my own. tis not a hedonistic life of pleasure i seek but one that my existence demands. yet they do not see it. tis selfish they say. you leave us. you have never cared. you were always this selfish. we were always right about you. erasing a large part of my existence in one fell swoop. know not how i feel. perhaps will not examine the tenderness that i feel. it hurts. terribly. and i know not what to do but cry. i hate crying. i hate that i hurt when wounded. i hate that i get wounded. i hate that i am not inanimate enough to feel the stab of your words. piercing. impaling without caution, without care. because i had wounded you with the path i have chosen. could you not be happy for me? could you rejoice when i do? do you not know how much i miss you? how much i love you? since life is about choices i choose. not the path of least resistance but one that speaks to my heart. i cannot live that life. the life i had. it will kill me. i know it. i was dead. this fell into my lap. you see the smile on my face and think that i am happy because i have left you. but i will never leave you. not when i love you this much. see that. please know that. that even if my life choices lead me away from you, i am there with you. i do not know if ever you will understand. these are choice i make because i want to live a life i can call my own. existing will not do. if you could see the colour of my heart, you will see it is not black. it bleeds red. i know not how to convince you, for i know words carry not their weight in gold. actions do. i hope that one day you will forgive me for my choices. i had to make them. for to surrender would mean to cease to live.

am angry. at the world; at myself; at the news; at the greed of man; at the complacency of society; at my weaknesses; at my fallibility; at the preposterousness of  our lives and how we have allowed a notion to dictate the fates; at how we might be the ruination of life. the undercurrents have decided to surface or that i am now aware of them. resent this feeling of utter helplessness as if my hands were bound behind my back and struggle as i may, the knot will not loosen. perhaps will be plagued by this feeling of ineptness indefinitely. anger will only play into the hands of nothingness, of which i will never be free but to surrender volition so easily. this cannot be. need to return to my roots.

the detritus of him remain swimming in my thoughts. the surface tells not of the chaos within. walking down the street, a random thought surfaces; stomach lurching i remember him. to live in anticipation yet fear of time; know not how the end will arrive. perhaps with fanfare; perhaps with quiet determination; perhaps replaced.

how do you love someone? quietly, constantly, softly. no matter the other. but for that you suffer, with your insides turned out, with your heart on your sleeve, hoping to be caught. call it stupidity, for by any other name it would feel as stark, as sweet, as intense. at odds, my head and my heart cannot agree – to love or to leave. perhaps the prophecy will fulfill itself to my utter detriment, the silly thoughts planted by years of tragic lovers of centuries past. rapier word, thy blade is fine; lays cold in my bosom, warmed by the blood that flows freely.

fie! fie! i will not die in the courtyard, in the cold. perhaps in the ground.

a friend said that i ought to paint and pine. i paint to forget; i pine in my sleep; i wake to find myself wanting. as the tide ebbs a sense of loss takes me. would i rather fester in pain or walk away with the shards of ego i might salvage from the debris. paint i will, perhaps it will cease, this constant yearning, rehashing of a life past and a life not known.