Buried In Words
Unmistakable Identity
You, standing before me, barely a mirage, and her, lying beneath my heart, sleeping soundly. Dear, heavy heart, that holds emptiness inside. The flower that may bloom come springtime, under the snow from which it was buried. She hears me wandering past, ne'er to speak nor walk. For the days where we were together, to the dawn at which we parted. My darling flower, my tongue is tied with your name, my thoughts of you neverending. I can only wish for you to bloom forth, my rose, with petals so fresh that you could make deserts an oasis, and make even the cruelest sword fall. But such a dream is in vain, and one day, the lightning shall rise and strike the earth, rending all in its path. 'Tis all and there is none. One cannot simply grasp a fragment of memory. From her prism eyes which would part the soul into all its colors, and then hide away, too close to reach. I hear her there, murmuring to my heart, alongside my breath, and walking behind me. But for that I could not look back, or she would disappear forever. I must move on. I trail a road up the winding forest grove, where the sunlight filters in among bare-leaved trees. And suddenly, a figure rises from the scattered paper, as real as the winds that had taken them. You, standing before me, barely a mirage. And her, lying beneath the earth, sleeping soundly.
An unmistakable identity.
Returned Regrets
All those years ago, I couldn’t hang on to you. I let you go, and I’ve had nightmares about it ever since. I regret it so much, and I know I’ll probably never see you again. In fact, I gave up hope a long time ago. But I thought, if we were to meet again, I’d never let you out of my sight. But when you made that face… I had another unrelated thought. I didn’t know that you could look like that. Suddenly so estranged and exotic, and I barely recognized that expression.
Chroma Dress
I found a white dress, full of colors I hadn't seen for a long time. Everything had been monochrome. It was beautiful. I don't know why I found it beautiful, but it just was. I thought... I might as well start living a lot, instead of wondering when I would die, or if I could do anything about it. So I hired a hitman for my thoughts, so that my overthinking wouldn't get in the way. Guilt and suicidal thoughts were pretty constant, but the act seemed to horrible I could never move toward that. Honestly, really getting near the edge and looking down into that abyss, was terrifying. I didn't know what was wrong with me - what was wrong with me? I don't even know. I'm not sure I ever will know. But it's so very hard for me to specify. I just stopped being engaged. I... shut down, essentially. That feeling of wonder and shock from the tingling, numb sensation thrilled me. I got addicted. I did it more and more, but never made a mess. And I always made sure to clean up the evidence. I'd been smothered under life for so long that I could no longer tell right from wrong when it came to my own life. But it was only the cutting. I hated the taste of alcohol, and I knew drugs were too risky; I wasn't so eager to die unwittingly. But I felt so alive, more alive that I had been for the past two years, as my life was ebbing away.
So What Am I Looking For?
Lately, I've been wondering if there is some middle ground to sanity. It's like I'm spiraling in a strange, slow way. I think I'm going into another slump. It's like I need the validation or reassurance. Or just a reason to laugh at myself. Then I feel like I'm being stupid by telling people but I want to get it off my mind. Feel free to ignore my stupid worries. I'm probably an unstable mess, no matter how much I want to believe I've moved away from that mindset. I brush it off as 'feeling listless' or wondering about 'silly things' when I think I really want to change 'wondering' to 'worrying.' I won't be cruel to you. I'm just laughing at myself; isn't it funny? But that's not what I want. "Worrying about silly stuff is my thing. Sorry." But I changed 'worrying' to 'wondering,' shaking my head. Why make them worry if you can have confidence in your friendship? Maybe it's my crippling depression and inferiority kicking in again. Guilt is a big part of that, too, I guess. "Ugh, insufferable." But they're right, of course. On the floor, staring up, the lights are much too bright for my heart. "I'd rather you say something negative so I can grin at your honesty and ridicule myself for confirmation. Being nice just makes me feel bad. It'd be easier to cope if you were mean." This terrible loneliness... I don't know why I feel this way, but it's unbearably cold.