Drunken notes belie my compassion. Or perhaps, the evidence of truth, no matter how fleeting a glance it is that I am afforded, shatters the lofty ideals with which I push through every day.
Love, or not even that, can be quite endearing and capturing. It defeats the theoretical promise of devotion and unrequited steadfastness. It chases away the sun that threatens to rise at 5:18am, in favor of small, unnoticed, stupid smiles at what has been seen, even though it has not been experienced.
Truth be told, I sometimes sit up and I have no idea why I love you.
I often quiet myself by telling myself that to get through one day is to get one step closer to fighting the world and staying true, despite being on the sidelines.
Truth be told, I sometimes have no idea why I love you. What am I holding on to? Who are you, when the sun has risen and I no longer have in my heart the pristine memory of you, whom I left 3 years ago? After all, isn't that why I didn't look back?
Please forgive me, I'm feeling fragile at the moment. I'm feeling fragile, but as of yet unbroken. I find myself writing more often now, and thinking more feverishly. Perhaps it is the closeness of this reality which stirs a certain panic in me. Maybe it's because every time, every single time, I envision myself introducing you.
I'm feeling fragile, yet unbroken at the moment. I'm writing much more often now, and that makes me afraid.
Tomorrow must come sooner, though I fear the sunrise.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Back to the Beginning
It's a Sunday evening that really is a Monday midnight. I'm back home to the familiar winds, the humidity that sticks, the general disorder.
Tonight is the preface of the story that started its narrative 3 years ago.
For the longest time, I've been stuck against this wall, holding my head close, hoping to hear some comforting sound aside from the groan of a desperate ear and constant longing of a heart against what is a solid divide. I've composed my own vows: pledged my promises for your happiness and my quiet -- I've ennobled my devotion and unexplained dedication.
My eyes were set upon stone. I saw you for all I wanted you to be, and I was content. My world had been limited and my options defined. I chose - you know I chose - I chose you. I chose you that day when we were far away, and I realized with more poignancy than ever that all I tried to catch, I did for my own sake, and not for what I had pretended to be the best for us. I chose you the moment I opened my eyes, put my phone in my pocket, and went on with my day. I chose you, because it gave me reason and gave you peace.
My heart was complete, but constructed with a gap. My mind stopped questioning my senses and allowed myself my own truth. The sky was gloomy, then clear, and I slipped to the clouds.
But then, years later, I touched back down. My solace was splintered by two voices, neither of whom was yours, but both of which I wanted to hear. I was afforded a crack in the wall that now I painfully chip and try to break through.
You cried.
The world had been stolen from under your feet, and you looked bitter and you cried. Now they tell me that I was really quite transparent, and that apparently you aren't.
Why now? What of it? Is stupidity worth hurting the both of us again? My perfect wall, as with all of me when it comes to this, presents itself as flawed. I am again plagued by indecisiveness. You again have captured my heart, as you did all those years ago. But this time, my intentions are clouded with malevolence because, as selfish as this sounds, I want to break you and put you back together as mine. I want to be your savior: the only one who saw you in pieces, and remembered you as whole.
The rain patters on my windowsill and I look cautiously at the clock that's about to call the sun. My mind is full of questions, and my heart empty in anticipation. I have a feeling that the storm will pass soon, and the heat of the sun will again beat down as I remember it to. Tomorrow they'll be working to put things back in order; I have something to talk to you about.
Tomorrow, we'll see.
Tonight is the preface of the story that started its narrative 3 years ago.
For the longest time, I've been stuck against this wall, holding my head close, hoping to hear some comforting sound aside from the groan of a desperate ear and constant longing of a heart against what is a solid divide. I've composed my own vows: pledged my promises for your happiness and my quiet -- I've ennobled my devotion and unexplained dedication.
My eyes were set upon stone. I saw you for all I wanted you to be, and I was content. My world had been limited and my options defined. I chose - you know I chose - I chose you. I chose you that day when we were far away, and I realized with more poignancy than ever that all I tried to catch, I did for my own sake, and not for what I had pretended to be the best for us. I chose you the moment I opened my eyes, put my phone in my pocket, and went on with my day. I chose you, because it gave me reason and gave you peace.
My heart was complete, but constructed with a gap. My mind stopped questioning my senses and allowed myself my own truth. The sky was gloomy, then clear, and I slipped to the clouds.
But then, years later, I touched back down. My solace was splintered by two voices, neither of whom was yours, but both of which I wanted to hear. I was afforded a crack in the wall that now I painfully chip and try to break through.
You cried.
The world had been stolen from under your feet, and you looked bitter and you cried. Now they tell me that I was really quite transparent, and that apparently you aren't.
Why now? What of it? Is stupidity worth hurting the both of us again? My perfect wall, as with all of me when it comes to this, presents itself as flawed. I am again plagued by indecisiveness. You again have captured my heart, as you did all those years ago. But this time, my intentions are clouded with malevolence because, as selfish as this sounds, I want to break you and put you back together as mine. I want to be your savior: the only one who saw you in pieces, and remembered you as whole.
The rain patters on my windowsill and I look cautiously at the clock that's about to call the sun. My mind is full of questions, and my heart empty in anticipation. I have a feeling that the storm will pass soon, and the heat of the sun will again beat down as I remember it to. Tomorrow they'll be working to put things back in order; I have something to talk to you about.
Tomorrow, we'll see.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
