The Save-day

Today is the save-day. It's time to save emotions, save money, save hope. Tie it all up in a neat bundle, a red polka-dot 'kerchief, knot it onto the end of a stick, and get going. Save-day! I like you.


Time:
Waste?
Uh-oh.

My search..for...

I started my search in familiar places. Some I entered quickly, rapidly, set my hand against the brick and ran my fingers against its cool smooth surface, and felt the crevices, and searched. I paused for a moment on the step as I closed my eyes and breathed in empty air that reminded me of nothing.
The pause. The replay. The pause. The replay.

Other places I entered hesitatingly, haltingly, walking along with a forced nonchalance as if I had wandered there (not) on purpose. Head down, raking the ground with my eyes only to give them a place to look at while I reached there. I stopped. Stared. Dawdled. Lingered. Felt nothing good, nothing happy. Only anger. I molded it, swallowed it. Retraced my steps back to the world of noise and people and...reality.

Other places I avoided completely. The alcove does not miss me. I do not miss it.

The search is not over. It shall continue.

hope

Is it your turn to lose control yet? I keep waiting for you to slip so I can stand up and claim my falls.

Winter afternoons

Afternoons.
*sigh*
Afternoons are not good times. These days. I believe it is the weather, the atmosphere, the routine that has an effect. For, winter afternoons signal the end of the day, the imminent setting of the sun, and the nearby transition to darkness, and evening, and cold.
Hence, they depress me.
Every afternoon finds me curled up in the corner, staring at the artificial flames, seeing past them, feeling so much all at once, and my body trembles with sobs, harsh sobs that may or may not hold tears.
Or, under the heavy quilt, which sees and hears and feels me then and at night, and tries to hug me into itself, tries to comfort me, warm me, and yet, the dying sun has set – and I am warm on the outside, but still cold inside.

I wait for times when memories will bring only smiles. And perhaps a tender touch of wistfulness.

I miss her, who hugs me only with words, and that is better than any bear hug.
I miss him, who wishes and waits and whose path I embellish with flower petals.

The better half that is you

January the 1st deserved mention, but unfortunately got it not.
No matter, there have been days and days after, minutes and moments that brought warmth and energy and smiles and tears - tears of joy, tears of longing, tears of bittersweet emotion. Words. Words that were heavy with emotion and feeling, feeling so pure, so selfless, that it is indescribable, possibly because I can only wish to be so myself.
You are light, you are warmth, you are the sun. The real sun. The only sun. The summer sun.
The strawberry blond that shines and ripples and bursts with fruit-energy. Fresh. Rich. Lush.
Green grass, that needs bare feet to feel alive.
Cold mirror on flushed pink cheeks. Relief. Slowing down of pulse.
The pulse that races. In your presence. In your absence. In my fantasies. Us.
Indescribable. Threads that we wove together, you and I, threads that we kept adding strands to, weaving side by side, shoulder to shoulder. Flaxen thread, ebony silk, warm-brown-soft.
I do not need your open arms to know my worth. Your eyes say it all.
I do not need assurances of loyalty, of faith, of belief, of hope. Your voice radiates it, with laughter, with gruffness, with humility, with passion.
And yet, yet it matters, somehow...somehow it feels good to hear it.. when you say

I love you

burn me...please?

i was the candle and you were the moth. then you were the candle and i was the moth. we burned. you faded. i went out. distance brings cold. do you want to play with fire again? my heart says yes. my mind says no. my soul...i dont understand the language of my soul. i await your answer only.

The lion cub

I’m blotting out several sounds at once. I want to disbelieve what I’m seeing, what you’re showing to me, but its taking effort. I keep getting distracted, but…this is how it goes down. Yes.

Things dictate themselves, over and over again, like lab rodents, hamsters in their wheel, guinea pigs who need ulterior motives. And you ask me to do what?

You give me memories that haunt me for hours and hours and days later. Memories that I sometimes find difficult to escape from. I want release, but do I really? I wish they did not exist, but now I will accept them, embrace them...but make them my own?

I am in a state of mental anguish. Anguish. Chaos. Pain.
Sound. Noise. Heat.
Feeling.

Warmth radiates out from our little circle, our alcove of peace and security. You may try to penetrate it, but you'll probably come up with nothing. It is empty now, polluted by, nothing in particular, and yet very much.

So God help me.

Picking flowers

Sometimes I cannot figure out where the beginning is and where the end. Endless words and feelings pop up in my head and images flicker back and forth like entire film reels. Emotions.

I’m just a silly little girl who thinks she knows a lot but actually knows nothing about anything.

I make mistakes everyday, and now it seems I have started a chain of mistakes that are linked to each other and keep going on and on, a chain reaction I cannot stop, a trail of problems that will not end, a withered daisy-chain that my fingers will not, cannot, stop building.

So help me, God.

It is difficult to point my finger at a single point and say that this is where it all started – my daisy-chain is deceiving…it looks the same wherever I look at it from. Every flower is innocently alike. How cute.

Pathetic is one way to describe me. Foolish is another. Feel free to pick more.

While i wait i might as well discourse

I do not know what I am doing. I did not know I had such little self-control. I want to stop..then I want to start...then I want to stop again - and it goes on and on. Is it wrong? Is it right? Can I explain my actions to someone else? If I cannot, does it mean that it is wrong? Or does it just mean that this is something that other people will not understand?

Of course it is wrong. Of course. Too much happiness is outlawed. It is illegal. It is unfair. One person cannot have so much. I'm trying to stick with it, but soon nature will snatch it back from me. That's how nature goes, that's how it's supposed to work.

Adios love.

Strength from you to me

I need strength. I need it now. I want it to flow from you to me. You forge a connection; hold hands. Warmth flows. Strengthens. Me. You.

Tears dry. Throats unchoke. Laughter returns. But the feel of your hand on mine remains forever.

Early morning poetry

It started with a single verse of Pink Floyd. And he wrote. And i wrote.
It is... I


Pink Floyd: Tongue-tied and twisted just an earthbound misfit.. I


D: Left-alone mystery just an unimportant history.. I


R: Blue black and bruised just a solitary muse.. I


D: Pink purple cliche'd just an only climax delayed.. I


R: Wrap-around and hopeful just an introverted local.. I


D: Much taunted insanity mixed glum-haunted sanity.. I


R: Whipped-up dreaming with cotton candy scheming.. I


D: Stuffed up confusions but unstoppable intrusions.. I


R: Darned holy intentions and yet screwed up redemptions.. I

This shall be my escape

Those three little words...reverberating in my head...again and again and again. They had been whispered for someone else, but i knew they belonged to me too.

Whispers.

Echoes.


They pounded against my skull like the drumbeat from some mystic lore, some myth that had resurfaced. I tried to whisk it away, flapping my hands around my ears; tried to blot it out by sheer will, and by holding my breath, and by closing my eyes, and by surrendering to.. begging for..bad dreams. But i couldnt escape it.

Films flashed before my eyes - entire reels with big block letters that did more than just taunt. Much more.


Take away the little security i had did you?