Sunday, June 22, 2014

Left empty.

Void: Where I am, gasping for air.

An empty space, a vacuum. Unoccupied, empty. Its exactly where I am now, gasping for air. In between a state of complete and utter emptiness and drastic aggressive silence. Voided, left empty. I gasp. Memories vigorously evoked, a series of dusty events. Empty, being unwillingly led down an old path, a complete void. I don’t want to go there. I close my eyes shut, imagine flowers I say. Remember the find-it-in-your-heart-to-forgive me bouquet. It erased everything, it made you happy.  Imagine her voice, tossing your entire world into her lap, I gasp. It made you happy. Imagine the shore, your big curls, tiny toes and the tingle of salt water. It made you happy. Imagine her scent, the way only she smells on a fine Friday afternoon. I take a deep breath; inhale the nothingness in the air. She made you happy. I picture all that and many more. Accompanied by so many familiar emotions, awakened. I didn’t resist, I gasped for the very last time. Moments evoked merely by memory, none by reality. In reality, I was here, in the void, left empty. The memories are inexistent in realities like mine, disowned, forcefully detached like they never were true. Maybe in another life, imaginary perhaps, it can’t be, it can’t be real. It can’t even be called a simple recollection of the past.

 It wasn’t, it can't be, was it? 

Thursday, June 19, 2014

Loss of precious little things.

Worth (n): 
An amount of something that has a specified value, that lasts for a specified length of time.
Usefulness, or importance.

Some things are worth more than others. Some people are too. No, not that way. Never materialistically, at least not here. Every “thing” here is of sentimental value, I’m speaking of that kind of importance, the important kind, the only kind that matters, the kind you can tell apart from all the other "things", an element that makes “things” stand out. It shows, most times its more obvious than ever, your worth. Most evident, in little "things" that are always meant for you. Directly. Individually. Only for you.

Things I would do, the times I would tell you, the other times I would put effort just to show you. You see?

Living in a messy world of mixed values and things of little-to-no sentimental importance. It’s a challenge for some to tell the difference, simple distinction, the ability to call something that of great sentimental value. Once you start paying attention to the little things, it gets clearer. It either exists or it doesn’t. It is either solely meant for you or just another common, overdone, constantly occurring gesture tossed in every other direction. 
That simple betrayal nips at my heart. It may not be considered betrayal at all. Just another gesture I thought much of and dismissed because of the absence of great sentimental value.

Look closely. Don't be tricked.

Monday, April 21, 2014

Your white things and I.

A tulip, a letter and a kiss planted on my cheek. Three things I am weak against. Three things I almost love as much as I love you. It's white, my favorite. The envelope is a square, almost see-through and I could see a paper folded perfectly. Neatly tied to that single stem. It's white too. You do it gracefully, effortless. It almost tricks me and on a different day I would've fell for it. You, the envelope, the tulip and the kiss. It says something else, it means something I feel it. Tell your eyes that. Let them know, convince them. You trick me. And if it wasn't what I know it is, I would've sighed in relief, stood on my toes reached out to thanked you for it the way you deserve. 

Why can't I open it until your gone? Until you give me your back walk away from me. 
Wouldn't it be late to read when you're long gone? That's what you want? Reading your words on paper, alone? I remember your handwriting in blue ink, my first letter. And the way you stood watching me closely, as I read every other letter that ever came after...
"For you, for the love of ink on paper." 

Your white things. The tulip shaking in my hands, I can barely keep hold of it. It's slipping through my fingers. The fragile beautiful white thing. I shake, I tighten my grip. Too fragile that it feels like breaking. It blurs. I can barely see you standing before me. They stream down my face. I look down to my feet. It didn't move you. It is that bad.

That sidewalk. You wore a white shirt, complementing your arms, making me feel safe. We were walking side by side, shoulder to shoulder or more like my head almost to your arms, clinging to you. You were talking nonstop and you never talk nonstop. That's what I do, you listen to me endlessly. You started stealing my role. I liked that. You looked down at me, that calm but loud voice in my ear, the sound of you that only I bring out.. 
"I could go on and tell you anything." 

Right there and then, I could see it in your eyes, you opened up to me like a eagle ready to fly, ready to soar so high in my sky. One that I owned and my eagle was barely visible from the ground. Mighty. 

What are you trying to say. Why don't you say it to me?