This cruel world will drag you to the empty side of your bed just to watch you make friends with the dark shadows that lay beside you and haunt you in your sleep. They will feast on your skin and leave your bones as reminders of what loneliness can do to you …
Hold me in your arms and tell me that tomorrow will be better. That just how the sun sets and it rises again is exactly how my sadness shall disappear and happiness shall take its place. Tell me how every cloud in the horizon can make the sky seem complete, how every curve tells it’s own story. Tell me how I will have my own story to tell, but I must survive through this page and make it to the end of my book. To be able to have lived. To have survived.
You won’t go against your own rules and go against ‘your type’. So you choose to stick with your mistakes and constantly go for the boys who fulfill your desires, and those who lust over you causing you to mistake it for love and affection. Not knowing that there is a Man ready to give you the world in the palm of his hands. Time and time again you are faced with the same problems and you choose to return to them in the shape of another face. Just because the face has changed that doesn’t mean that the soul will change. You want the soul of a man who will look at you like you are the morning sun and need you like you are his crutch on the days where he craves your love. The one who will grow with you and grow for you. The one to mend your heart from previous mistakes and change your opinion on love. The kind your parents warn you about later on in life because he’s ‘The one’ he will have the power to hurt you and love you at the same time. He will not only invest his love in your relationship but will invest in you because you will be his future, his top priority. That is what a Man is. He’s the one you weren’t ready for because he wasn’t ‘your type’ but now that youve realised what love is he’s ‘just your type’.
I didn’t write because I wanted attention, or needed to ‘feed my ego’. I’d say it was the feeling of instead wanting to ‘feed my soul’. It is easy to Sit and Judge another whilst all he simply wishes to do is bare his heart for all those watching. And i guess that is all i wish to do, to bare my heart to all and have hope, no faith that there shall be one who feels my quill in the spine of their memories and feels themselves in me. So i write. I write because it gives me a sense of euphoria, it takes me to a place where I have hope that I can beat these dark monsters that keep me awake at night. Maybe they’re not monsters? Or, maybe I’m not really awake?-But all I know is if writing makes me feel this way then I wish never to awaken from this deep sleep again. If it oozes my bruised heart to sleep everyday, then I wish for this cruel world to keep on bruising it. I wish for writing and writing alone to be the ailment to all remedies for this young child. So that when the time comes and she’s lived her life and all that she’s seen in this world has disappeared. When the beauty of nature dies out and the orange fiery ball of fire we see in the sky disappears and burns everything in its path, like it had ceased to ever exist before. My writing will exist. The history of it, the legacy I leave behind for myself and all the broken. That will Always exist.
My love was pure, the kind which baptized the sins of your heart and left it as white as milk. The kind where when you lay out in the orchard of my memories you’d pick the sweetest of them all and hold it close to your chest allowing it to touch the sweet nectar of your skin and embrace its delicate touch. I gave you an infinity in the little time we had, I gave you galaxies, moons and milky ways and yet you still yearned for the stars in my eyes. It was never enough. When we’d stare up at the night sky and accept its darkness and beauty, and how it could manage to silence us both and always push me into your arms, because that’s what you were to me the night sky in all its phases. The sun which shined on my darkest days and the starry night sky which always lead me home. You were the end to all my beginnings and the solution to all my problems. And when you’d ask me if I loved you, I’d always say it was like asking me if I breathe. But you took my breath with you leaving me to choke, and I’ve never learnt to breathe again…
I guess in the end all we want is to receive the same love that we give so freely to everyone else …
Some girl who had a crush on you asked me if I thought you were good-looking…
In my head I pictured the crease your skin made when you smiled, the twinkle you’d get in your eyes everytime I mentioned that I’d got you your favourite chocolate, your soft and tender lips that carried my secrets and locked them safe in the deepest corners of your heart, that radiated light whenever I was stuck in a dark time. Your hair that fell so softly over your eyes and how it’d sway in the autumn breeze..how it annoyed you when it grew too long and how you’d get agitated so you would cut it…and I hated it being cut…because it took the part of you I loved most and sort of decreased it because you didn’t know how loved it was…..
But I just smiled and said ‘ He is isn’t he?’…in hope that maybe she’d be the one who’d see the storm in your eyes and stay even if the winds tested her love for you she would not even sway…..not like I did. She’d stay.
I told her I loved her. I didn’t need to tell her really, but it’s the 21st Century and everything nowadays has to be said to be proven. So I expressed my feelings to her because she was always the sweet and selfless person who never thought twice about jumping in the water to save another, but would think twice about smiling when receiving a compliment, because that was just the type of girl she was. The type of girl who would carve smiles onto the faces of all those she met, but yet failed to smile when faced in the mirror. She was still the same old-fashioned hopeless romantic. She still cried on sad endings, and chuckled with glee on happy endings. And in these moments I’d see something in her eyes, which no other had the fortune of seeing, that she was different she wasn’t the type of girl to validate her worth by a compliment, which is why she never smiled when given one. As compliments to her were nothing, they were like raindrops melting in the warmth of the summer sun. Things which would soon disappear and bear no importance. I remember asking her why she didn’t value herself enough, think of herself as a beautiful painting with a story to tell with each stroke of the brush. I remember she replied “I am a painting, I’m just not there yet, I’d rather see myself as an empty canvas. Something which has the power to be incredible, but chooses not to be”. I then went on to ask why she thought she did not possess the power to be incredible, and she then so naively replied ” Girls like me, we don’t live to be incredible”…And that was when I realised that she would be my canvas, and I would paint her stroke by stroke, and when people would come from afar to see my masterpiece,they would look for a signature, as every masterpiece has one, and mine would be Her.
They mistake the silence and long sleepless nights as a result of some kind of pain or sadness but, how do you explain to others that to feel pain you need to be hurt and to feel hurt there has to be a reason behind all that pain, how do you explain that if you don’t even know it yourself? How do you tell the Mother who nurtured you, that she herself couldn’t take away the long nights that you spent in solitude? How do you tell the Father who once pushed you on the swings that, it’s those very memories that choke you and leave you breathless at night?What do you tell to the sister’s that once laughed alongside you whilst reminiscing over past memories? That it’s an invisible cloak, which sometimes you wear and sometimes you don’t. To be able to explain that the tears that fall aren’t for a particular reason.You’re just tired, and it isn’t due to a lack of sleep. You’re Just Tired.
I miss you, and there’s no one else that can fill that void that you left. I have times where I struggle to get out of bed, and face the very world in which I know you do not exist anymore. To carry on as normal. To tell the very ruins of my soul that cry out your name every night that it will be okay, that I will get over this , but the sun sets and it rises again and I feel the same old numb feeling in my heart from the night before and the night before and it never changes.
Maybe I’ll learn to live without you or maybe I won’t. All I know is that your memory will never escape the dark abyss of my soul, every laugh as important and different as the next, echoes in the hallways of my heart and every one of your words is etched deep into my weary old skin, that has allowed me to live to the ripe old age of 96.
Your memories never leave me, nor will they as I am close to joining you now, and I hope that when we meet its the same as it had always been, and I shall remain your dearest as I see you in Heaven and tug at your coat letting you know I’m the same old girl you left behind to face the world alone, and I’m the same old girl who conquered that world in the only hope to meet you again.
“Nobody is fearless, we are all scared of losing someone we love”