THE BEGINNING // THE END.

Lo and behold here I am, yet again sitting in a room filled with silence and emptiness with only the voice of my heart, the clicking of my keys, the creaking of the fan and the screams of my wrecked heart. 

For hours I sit in silence hoping that the day comes when this ordeal ends, this pain stops and I cease to exist. Now this is not something that is new, but a long desire of mine that leaves me sleepless at nights when I start to jot down these funny feelings only until they get the best of me.

Every single day I feel as if death tempts me, living is so hard and death? Just a simple step away. And no matter how absurd it seems or how convenient to you that how I’m finding a short cut from the pain rather than facing it head first, I also have to say that no matter how many motivational quotes I read or motivational speeches I hear, they have their high that lasts for such a small amount of time that I feel withdrawals for a longer period. And when I, for once, really think of why people are afraid to die, I fail to see why is it that makes them cling to materialistic things so much. If death comes to me today, this instance while I am writing this passage of my inner intertwined thoughts that are almost too hard to untangle I would not be afraid. I do not fear death, neither the grim reaper nor the pain that it brings. I have realized that I for one do not care for my life, now as a reader you can take that part two ways a.) as a materialistic person you would probably close this rubbish that you’re reading and call me nothing but an impudent liar or b.) as a writer, poet or dreamer you would congratulate me for my liberation from this conniving world and wish me luck for the future. I do not hold any harsh feelings for those that feel the former mentioned way and neither favor the latter ones because we need materialistic people to remind the poets and the writers sometimes of an alternate reality and need the crazy ‘I don’t care about the money, head in the sky’ dreamers about what they’re not missing. The bottom line is we need both the type of people to keep a balance in this world. If the world was full of dreamy eyed writers and poets we’d probably be dead in the first month or so because no one would care enough to grow the crops, feed the animals instead we’d all be sitting on a piece of garment watching sunsets, or below the night sky watching the stars writing sonnets and rhymes about how we want to make a difference, about love, about the beauty of everything around us and die the next morning. On the other hand, if the world consisted of only money minded realists, there’d be no art, no literature, no movies, no fiction, only documentaries about a fat rich bloke who brought another industrial revolution. A reality with only the education that mattered like doctrine, engineering, law, business etc., and even though the world would run, crops would be grown only to be sold later, animals would be fed only to be chopped later, that world would be a dull place with no one to love and no love to love back, no one would kiss, no one would hug, only sex would be sold like it is being today. And I paint these very unlike yet real images in your head so that if you’re someone in the middle you’d choose and if you’re not afraid to die, not afraid to lose any ‘thing’, then you know where you belong. I know where I belong and by the looks of it now you as a reader know it too.

I do not know where I stand or where I would be in the future yet the only thing I ask from God or the higher spirit that is above us is that I am happy. I know that happiness is a farfetched and much complicated thing, not something that I can wish for on shooting stars or 11:11s and yet, even after knowing this, it doesn’t stop me from wishing it every time I see a 11:11.

There’s a saying that I am a firm believer of it goes “you only live once? False. You live every day; you only die once.” And even though the original source is unknown to me, I don’t know why but this quote opens my eyes time to time and it fills me with a little resentment of having lived most of my life not on my terms. Maybe it is that I long for being born a day, watch the sunrise, sleep through the afternoons, watch the sunset, write non-stop about the beauty and serenity that surrounds me, the love people show, how less certain things matter, then lie on fresh grass throughout the night watching the heavenly bodies in the night sky, the melancholic patterns they make and then die and be reborn before the sunrise and restart the day, I don’t mind for the repetition of it, a life a day is better than a small eternity without even knowing the time of our death, growing through the pain, the hardships, the longevity of it all and then be reborn only God knows after how long to live yet another insignificant eternity going through it all over again. Tell me now, would you rather settle for the repetition, a life a day or an eternity living through the pain uninformed of when your time’s simply up. 

  

A SEQUENCE OF DENTED EXPRESSION.

An eternity I have lived bound by the shackles of making sense, making visions, making rhymes but what I am to write is far too difficult to put into sentences of two and assign a rhyme scheme to it because, this isn’t some pretty poem of love and whimsical melodies that would be sung, but a testament of something that even I’m yet to uncover, writing sentence after sentence of words that next choose to come inside this organ of mine.

 I have always been the one begging someone to stay, as if they were enough to complete my broken self and in misery I’ve lived for far too long to contemplate that its true: how merely by the absence of someone I’ve defined myself as incomplete, that how simply I’ve resorted to a term such as lonely and how bluntly I’ve decided to believe in it.

I have lived far too long with the undeniable custom of looking at the stars, as if I were to be looking at myself in the mirror, searching for answers that I know lie well deep within me, but am too afraid to look because I know, if I go too deep I might see you there wondering, how long you’ve been and how much longer you mean to stay, and only wishing I don’t get the answer to either of the questions quite truthfully because, I know I would not be able to digest that assortment of information without truly becoming ill. You do possess the uncharismatic charm of keeping me on my toes, you’ve had it for years. It had always been magical how my toes would curl up as you reached deeper and deeper into me, how every cell of mine lighted up when your lips touched mine, and how I’d be willing to do anything for you if it meant I’d get to keep you closer even for a single second, yet here I am somehow left with absolutely nothing other than my memories, now playing back to me like a film on loop, scene after scene, and it’s all that I see every minute my eyes are open. I see you on the ceiling of my room night after night in the darkness, repeating to me the words that you once said to me in flesh, till the only window in my room fills it with the rays of the dawn. I go about my daily routine during the day, until I meet you again in the night.

I have engaged myself with the harsh query concerning how long am I to live my life this way? To hopelessly repeat conversations that over the time of their repetition are not even the entire truth anymore, but merely false words of my own that I’ve fed in your mouth getting better and better at every rerun. I no longer remember the words that you’ve in fact said to me, maybe because it mattered more to me what you should’ve said rather than what you did, and upon realization I see how senseless it has been of me to hang onto you even though you’ve really been so inconsiderate to me. I see now how my sense of judgement had been clouded by my own fantasies that I had given my all to you not once, not twice but every single time that you’ve asked. But strangely instead of being filled with resentment or indeed regret I feel your need once again. I see how it seems to me that even though my judgement had been clouded clearly my desires had not. Miserably I still desire for your arms around me even if it lasts for seconds, I desire for your lips over mine sucking and biting as if they know nothing else, I desire your hands all over my body as if they know no other place to reside and I desire for all of you for as long as I can because in the end the truth is darling that even though you lie in my heart and I nowhere on you, I still desire that these false conversations that I have in my mind with you were to be the reality of my life, how these fictional replays I have of us were actually true, how these unwritten feelings of mine that cannot be merely typed out or jotted down on paper, how I actually might be going crazy watching the replays of you kissing me knowing that in actuality ‘we’ don’t exist and knowing how easy it has been for you to substitute me because to you I know I have been nothing, and probably will be nothing for our insignificant eternities.

However, you should know somewhere inside me there shall always be a burning fire keeping me going through my rough days, through heavy rains and through scorching days, the burning fire of another truth, a much simpler and a much more unblemished truth that no matter how far you’ll go or how deep within you’ll be in someone else you’d never be able to forget me. I’d love to live believing the mere fact that you’ll be living your days woman to woman, city to city looking for a truth you wouldn’t know, looking for a mouth to kiss that you wouldn’t even know how it tastes and looking to hold someone who wouldn’t be able to hold you back the way you like to be held, looking for someone who would stroke your hair the way you like it, looking for me in every other woman and only hoping deep inside your heart that she was me and till your short forever, you would live in the absence of my presence, until a day comes when you would too like my present self-have replays of the conversations we once had in flesh and realizing all that you had said to me and all that you should have said to me or did not say to me because while I was fixated on your heart you had been an absolute imbecile to be fixated on other things.