Sunday, October 3
it's that little place that matters the most, did you know? raindrops falling slowly, irridescent drops against the sky. sunlight flashing, warming, knowing. birds that swoop and soar and glide endlessly on outstretched wings. they reach the planes of the skies that we only dream of. i've seen you in the reflection of heaven. i see you in the clear surface of the pond, in the waves of icecubes clinking in glasses of water. strange, that i see you in water, not in the freedom of the birds. you cannot grant me freedom, no one can. i will never be free from this earth as long as i live, and maybe i'll accept it someday. i cannot be bound to another soul. i see you in the rapid changes of water. how little energy it takes for water to change states. how quickly it vapourises, and disappears without a trace. was it ever there? no one knows, not a single hint of memory or rememberance. you are evaporating quickly away from my mind, that little place. i won't say heart. i have no heart. or so i must tell myself. quickly, sunlight, evaporate the droplets that remain, let them turn into a vapour that vanishes into thin air. and then evaporate my falling tears. i must be free. take the shackles off my feet, Lord. take them off and i will dance for you. in that little place i call my mind, i know what's wrong. take it all away, it's all wrong, i know it is, please set me free.. i won't hate. i merely despise myself. go, go away. leave my mind. something haunts me still. when will it go? it must it must oh purge it from me. i'm ranting. leave, leave me alone.
reading your story. it makes me want to cry. it's very well paced though. sometimes i hate myself. i'd be reading something horribly touching, and part of my brain will be analysing the technique. spoils it somehow. all this analysis. why does it have to hurt? i don't know. everyone's hurting everyone. it's not just me, it's not just you. every word, like a daggar. i cannot breathe. slicing through the air, like a knife through butter. oh very well paced. i cannot breathe. i cannot believe this is life. it's not, it's not! why is existence masquerading as life then? so what if i rant. i cannot keep silent. who would i say this to? no one. i'm saying this to me. 'cos i only feel alive when i dream at night'.. marc anthony, when i dream at night. true for me. not surprising. i live for dreams. i'm sad for you. okay let's practice lit. feeling: sadness. evidence: you are trapped. within yourself. and you will never be free. there's more than one 'you'. so many different 'you's. and i don't just mean in a schizo way. i only feel alive when i dream at night. i only feel alive..
it must've been love.
8:46 pm
xoxo
