Anniversary (Part 1)

One year. Sometimes it feels like I still haven’t woken up from that dream. The mysterious dream haze of that day and that week and that month…
It’s just you and me. The world and everyone in it – intruders all. To be kept out. Away. Just us.
Sometimes I still tremble when you kiss me. The way you can turn me on with just a glance. The way your touch can make me feel better anytime, anywhere. How it means so many things. Comfort, ownership, love, companionship, desire.
I love how you are willing to fight with me to protect me. Even though you hate fighting. I love the ring in your voice when you tell me, oh-so-matter-of-factly, that you would do anything to protect me. Even though I wouldn’t want you to.
I love the whispered words that never reach my ears, the kisses in the night while I sleep, the way I can melt into you with no awkwardness of elbows and knees.
A perfect fit.

My Happy Place No More… and I am happy

“The past has always been my happy place.”

Something I wrote just 4 months ago. A little surprised that it is no longer true. My feelings towards my past have not changed. But my present…  Warmer, rosier, more gold than anything else. Peep holes turned into doorways, chains pulled away, windows that have been unlocked, fingers that have been unclenched. Reached out.

It is always scary when you realize how much power one person holds over you – your happiness, your time, your state of mind. When you let someone in, it is wonderful and terrifying and intoxicating at the same time. Manage to hold the fear in, and it is the warmth of someone’s hand on yours, the touch that says only one thing, “I am here with you.”

And that is the most important thing to say after all.

Past or present?

I’ve looked at the past for a long time. Not long enough, and yet… Long enough.

I’m not ready to look at the future. Except for cautious sideways glances so brief that the brain can’t catch up with what the eye sees.

Forced to exist in the present, I’m not really sure what to do. It is a little scary, and a little thrilling. It has also forced the question – where did I live earlier? I know I’ve never lived in the future. No grand dreams consumed me, not every step I took was to lead me down a predetermined path to a predetermined goal.

That left the past, and the present. And that is where it got a little confusing.

The past has always been my happy place. Good memories bathed in a golden glow that probably made them more beautiful than reality, and bad memories with angles softened till there were no sharp edges – and enough soft haze to blunt out the pain. This is not to say that I don’t have painful memories. It is just that those are more like memories of memories. Enough distance to make it not hurt.

And the present? The whole “living in the moment” bit has never been my thing. But is “the present” bigger than “the moment?” I hope so. I’ve almost always been happy with my circumstances, never looking back on past riches (whether real or perceived) with regret or a sense of loss. Maybe just a little wistfulness. I’ve never really mourned lost friends. Out of sight equals out of mind. Or lost opportunities. Might have been great but this isn’t too bad either.

So, then, what? Where? Am I just floating along on the clouds? Is any part of my life real to me? Or is it all just dream-haze?

What hurts more

What hurts more – when love turns to hate? Or when love turns to unconcern? How can you and I have changed so much that we longer even care enough to hate?

It takes too much. Too much time. Too much energy. Too much space in my mind. Too much that I don’t have to give. Too much that I don’t want to give. Is it the same for you?

A little bit of hate. A little bit of sorrow. A little bit of anger. Just so I know you matter. Just so I know I matter. Just so I know we remember.

I hope someday you think of me and smile and miss me just a little.

What is it that breaks so quietly?

Shards of glass. Beautiful diamonds reflecting light. Transparent. Look through and see that there is no heart. Childish faith in innocence. You cannot hear it break.

The pieces surround you. Even the screams make no sound.

You are here. The start of the puzzle. Remake and live. But can you remake belief? Flounder, then, in scattered existence.

Don’t look. For that will bring fear. But it hurts anyway. Colour spreads and the bowl fills with red. If only the pain would flow as easily.

Come to me as a friend. Hold me in your embrace. Strip away everything. Till there is nothing left to do but cower quietly, and watch the pieces fall as they may.

Dreams

There are dreams. So many dreams. Not all are pretty, but I wish they were.

Dreams that carry me into tranquility. Dreams that darken my soul. Dreams I wander unconscious.

Shaken by memory, I wake. Even as part of me is fighting. It is easier to float in dreams. Not knowing that your world is not real.

I want to close my eyes. Even if I can’t go back to sleep again. Even if it’s just pretend.

The light is too harsh, the edges too sharp. And what I must do is too hard.

Invisible

Safe. For no one can see you. Safe. For no one can find you.
When you walk out of the shadows, they follow. For you are their own. Cloak you in their cold embrace. The kiss, that lasts forever.
Do you hide? Or do they hide you?
You are safe, regardless.
Feel the seeping cold in your mind, the clenching of your heart easing, the shadow turning to darkness.
Invisible, you roam the world. Unseen. Unheard. Unreal.

Death

What hurts the most when something breaks? Is it the sense of loss? The jagged edges digging into your skin? The sound of shattering, a silent scream in your heart?

No, it is the realization that something that was once beautiful and precious has now become valueless. It is the realization that what was once your comfort can now only give you pain.

Slow drops, rolling down to the ground. Blood mingling with tears. Convulsions. And silence.

You scream, and there is no longer anyone to hear, anyone to care. No hands to reach out for, no breathing next to you to calm your own.

Everything dies. You know, you accept, but you don’t believe. Not really.

Until now.

Bury it deep, because I am scared. But is there deep enough to hold the ghosts? Silent witnesses to my silent death.

Lost. And Found.

A memory of a memory. Opened a book and found my past in its pages.

Laughed over who I was, and cried over who I wasn’t anymore.

Fell a little bit in love with myself again. Pride, and joy, in being. Wondered. Maybe I was smart, and funny, and everything else they told me.

Felt myself begin to believe again, believe that I was worth something. That I deserved something good. Really believe, and not the pretend-believe that I had been doing before.

Saw myself and smiled as I hadn’t in a long time.