Burgundy and defeat.

I'd say, I'm numb. I would say it over and over again. I am not. I feel it. Stronger than ever. Feelings flare up. I barely hear my own voice. I would say I've never been in a situation more painful, but I have and I felt it then as I feel it now. Emotions, are terrorist. They win. 

It is this time of year, July, the tricky part of July, that manages to always takes revenge. Different ways, the very same result. Defeat. 

Emotions can control every single fiber of us, like puppets on a string. Life makes a complete joke out of everything. What good does wishful thinking ever do? 

Dots.

Some cultures speak through silence, and learn through listening. However, the society and culture we live in speaks the language of rumours, false assumptions and accusations, fiction and a little spicing things up.  I wouldn't say we learn through listening, because we rarely do. We feed on the things we hear, and so badly want to believe. By that we start catagorizing other people as, the enemy. Simply because the only rational, sane, normal thing to do is judge. Putting each and every little detail that is none of our business, under a microscope. One with a broken lens, one that only shows us what we want to see, the art of make believe. Only reflects on who we are. At some point in your life, you realize that you are above certain things and that is exactly why you lose the urge to act upon them. Only because, they don't matter to you. I was raised by parents who taught me to always raise above. Remember, everything that is far from the truth, past on by little minds is merely a reflection of the person who started them. Exactly why I decided to raise above, sit back and watch the world connect the dots on its own. 

Lace and sunlight.

White. Peonies. Sunlight. And maybe lace. Clarity. Compromises. Gold in the air. Plenty of beauty in simplicity. The smell of freshly cut grass. I vividly remember the streets we were walking, the patch of that sidewalk, mid-summer day, laughter, giggles and happiness. I can still see the brightness the dark grey cement brought to my blue shoes. The contradiction. And that wasn't all there was more to that day and all the other days than just that. But everything else after is a blur. Faded, mostly gone. Usually, the question is, why do we only remember bitterness? In the face of what truly matters, we seek refuge in what makes more sense to pride and less sense to compassion. Remember, what made us happy then? That trademark twinkle in your eyes? Remember, how only the little beautiful things matter? Remember, when it was us against the world, hand in hand? Remember, why we stick together? Remember, where we had the time of our lives? Because I do. How can I forget. It brings back, all the joy and laughter and I feel it as I recall how you and I were the center of our little universe. Back when my circle only fit two feet. Ours. 


If your past was in a glass house. Would you be looking in or looking out?

Cliche

Forgiveness. You forgive, for your sake. Forgiveness, serves you more than the person that wronged you or vice versa. In the long run, this is for you, for me, for us. Every one of us has been betrayed and hurt at some point. Feeling hurt is completely and utterly a normal part of being a human being. You see pain can linger and stay for a long time, more than it should. Paying its unwelcomed visits every now and then constantly reminding you of every single brutal memory. Dragging mind numbing, inevitable feelings. I am one of those girls that wish they could magically change the past, change what has been done to me, change what I may have done to others. Change every little thing that fills me up with deep seated resentment or remorse. Right all the wrongs. I think we spend too much time feeling guilty and resentful, focussing on things we can't change rather than what we actually can change. Stuck in the past, constantly pressing rewind. As human beings, we want to forget, we want to erase, we want to get past everything turbo speed. Thing is, you can't simply forget if you can't accept, or forgive. Forgiveness needs effort, patience, time and practice. The trick is to write about forgiveness like I know how, as if I mastered the art of acceptance and forgiveness. Smart? The sad truth is you'd be very wrong to think, that it worked. As I sit and try to convince myself with words that are written by me to me. As much as I just made it sound simple and easy, forgiveness is not anywhere close to practical. And as much I'd love to be the bigger person, today I choose not to be.

Shut.

I've been out of words, out of feelings, out of everything I was so full of or thought I was. I'd love to say, I've been in a bubble, as much as it sounds like sweet isolation or blissful ignorance, its much more dreamy than being where I am. Trapped. Anxious. Uneasy. More claustrophobic than ever.

The ruins of us.

When you stop thinking about it, when it stops crossing your mind, when your mind stops chewing on it over and over again is when you know it doesn't matter to you, for real. As long as you repeat the oh so famous I-don't-care, you still do. Truth is when you stop saying I don't care is when you really don't. Thinking about it now, I never thought I'd be here, indifferent. I never thought It wouldn't matter to me anymore. I don't seem to recognize the me that doesn't miss it, that doesn't think about it. I don't know what went wrong, but something did. That something that went wrong inside me, is what saved me. I stopped being in denial, that thing they call acceptance started to bloom.

It was like living in a house where the roof has fallen off and looking up everyday and smiling, being all Pollyanna about it. I don't care, I just don't care. What they're calling a wreck, is my home. What they don't like is what I built brick by brick over such a long time and I can't afford to lose it, lose what I've built so far for a little desturction. I can't let all the beautiful memories go to waste, its who I am, its all that we are. Invincible, irreplaceable. No, the roof is not a sign, and no it is not crumbling down. It wont kill me, it can't kill me, its whats keeping me alive. Living around all this is the reason I wake up in the morning. There isn't anywhere like this anyway, I'd trade the entire world for this. It may not be what it once was, but its our place. 

Truth is, the helplessness it made me feel broke my heart. It was a mess that I couldn't stop, It drowned me in deep denial. I didn't like living in a roofless house, I didn't like the sun, I didn't like the exposure. I felt unsafe, unprotected. It didn't look like something that belongs to me, it didn't feel like something that once belonged to me. I looked up, like every other morning, and asked myself "Is it worth it?" 

And it was more crushing than courageous to finally realize, it isn't. It wasn't worth it, it wasn't worth holding onto. There was no room for false hope or denial, no room for sweeping issues under the rug no more. That sad grey morning, I moved out.

The battle of the greatest powers.

The feeling, the ache right in the middle of your chest. A physical sensation of your insides shattering to a million little pieces, a broken heart or so they say. In our minds, the problem is always our hearts. A battle of right and wrong. A battle of power, of unconsciousness, of control. They trick you, you find yourself unconsciously giving in to their hidden powers. Follow your heart they say. Then again, be smart use your mind, because hearts make fools out of us and the mind knows whats best for you. Being smart, is always associated with using your head. That is where we are wrong. It is not the heart thats the problem, in fact it is our mind. Our mind is what keeps on relentlessly going over things, over and over and over again. Our mind is what keeps us restless, sleepless.. 

Literary the heart, the actual heart, does not get hurt. In fact, it does not feel anything. We cling to ideas, we create problems that only exist in our head. Mainly because most of the time, we want things to be different, we expect them to be different, most importantly we spend so much time thinking of what ifs. What if, this that and the other. What if things were actually different. In our minds we do not accept things or people the way they are. We constantly have the urge to try to change things, change people, change reactions, change feelings, change situations. The mind is persistent, insistent, impatient.  The power of a persistent mind is larger, than the power of a thousand hearts. It just can't let it go, can it? 

Que sera, sera.

Once upon a time, there was a girl. Always calm. Always quiet. A creature of many faces, she would be ugly and unpleasant at times. Too much to take, too much to handle. A mess. And at other times she was mind blowingly beautiful. Perfect, just what everyone needed. Left a lingering smile on faces. Thing is, that poor girl was usually mistrusted, misjudged and always misunderstood. They didn't trust that all she wanted was the best, their best. They didn't know that she had their bestest interest at heart. They didn't believe in her. They wouldn't. They just couldn't give up their power, their will, to a little girl. How could they give in? Noway.
She wasn't anyone's favorite. Regardless, she kept on happening, showing up. A little creep, they said. Scaring everyone around her off. And that didn't feel good, it worried her. It made her feel very much neglected.
So she prayed, every night for that one day, that one day she would finally prove herself right. Waiting patiently for them to see things through her glasses. They may not be rose colored, they may not colored at all. But they were just right. No illusions. No lies. Just the way everything should be.

Her name is Fate and Fate is coming.

The memory.

I sat there. Helpless. As the tears ran down my face and my heart swelled with feelings of nostalgia. A feeling I don't know too well, one that held me down. Like an anchor pulling me down to the very bottom. Into a deep dark blue sea. That's exactly when I realized I wasn't going to break my own heart, little by little, it was already slowly getting broken. I sat there. Thinking of how something that only exists in one's mind, a thought a memory, is what can and what does shatter you into a million little pieces.