Some nights you try to convince yourself that you never loved her, but that it was only the familiarity of her laughter in a room full of strangers which drew you in, that the twinkle in her eyes was only so endearing because it reminded you of the night sky, but then you get up to look out the window and all is dark. The moon has hidden behind a curtain of grey clouds and the stars seem to have dimmed. You laugh as you realize that even the universe doesn’t know what to do without her- how can you expect to be able to put yourself together ever again? And as the moon peeks out guiltily from behind its veil at that moment, you start to miss her with a ferocity you never knew your tired bones held.
Listen, it’s been too long now, okay? Too goddamn long, and you need to leave. You need to get out of my heart because I won’t be letting you stay in here anymore, not when you’ve smashed every glass window and every mirror into a million shards and ripped every door off its hinges, not when you’ve left coffee stains on the walls from still drunken rages the mornings after. I’m boarding it up now. Maybe someday I’ll find the courage to renovate this house that you’ve destroyed and turn it into a home again, but for now I’ll board up the shattered windows and doors so that the splinters and the words we never yelled at each other don’t hurt anyone else. Maybe I won’t. My sixth grade teacher once told me that sometimes places never recover after they’ve been hit by hurricanes. Maybe it’s the same for people too.
Falling in love for the first time is like being an adrenaline junkie and jumping off a cliff, full of naive courage and only thinking of the wind rushing through your hair. But your second love is harder because as you lay there on the sharp rocks, the adrenaline of the flight down wearing off and your body battered, bruised and bleeding, you’ll promise yourself to never go through anything that risky, that damaging ever again, because it’s just not worth it.
The ecstasy is not worth the pain.
You’ll promise yourself to never let your fragile heart in someone else’s ruthless palms ever again after seeing it smash down onto the rocks and scatter into a million pieces, and as the water will start to rise, tides lapping up the shore, at first the cool water will feel good on your broken body until you’ll realize it’s pulling you out to sea now, and you’ll hold on to whatever rocks you can, cutting your hands and making rivulets of blood flow down your arms, to keep yourself from going into the water because you know you won’t be able to keep afloat, but the water is strong, and you are not, and now you’re in the water with no more energy. You’ll stop fighting, and go under water, but you will not drown. You’ll sink to the bottom of the sea, and sometimes swallow salty sea water that burns down your throat, but you’ll be alive, and you’ll be more alive than you’ll have ever been. Sitting on the seabed with the fishes around you, you’ll realize that maybe you thought yourself stupid for thinking you’d be one of those who found their wings on the way down from the cliff and flew off into glorious sunsets, but you’ll know you were stupid for fighting the water when you find that you can breathe in the sea easier than you did in the purest of air. This is where you were meant to be, and you know now that anything can happen.
You believe again.
This is what your second love is like.
Image taken from here.
5 stages of grief.
1. I paint the brightest shade of orange all over my lids with messy strokes and multiple coats to block away the deep purple of loss, but it comes back to haunt me in my sleep every night where there is no orange, but only the deepest, darkest purple.
2. I pour black all over my heart and it burns out the red passion I used to hold, turning it into an anger that is insatiable, an anger that does not lessen. I have broken my mother’s best china and smashed the table that held my snow globes. I have not slept for ages now. My eyes burn as I stare at the blank wall, my soul burns away thread by thread as the black swallows the purple.
3. The black fades to a pale, sickly brown, and I pray to whoever and whatever may listen to rewind time and let me hear you laugh one more time. Please, I say. Please, I scream, and I scream until my voice gives out and the neighbors look through flicking curtains to find the banshee, but all that I hear is the taunting silence of the universe.
4. My heart and fingers turn into a velvety cobalt blue, and it slowly travels until I am blue all over, from the tips of my hair to the nails of my feet, and I play with fire to drive it away, and I play with sharp objects to cut it away, but even the scabs that form are blue, and the scars left behind are blue. I don’t think it will ever go away, I’m a girl of blue ice who can never get to fire in time ever again.
5. My heart is the palest shade of copper now, and I know I’m not the first person the universe has thrown off the edge of the world. I know I will not be the last. Life will forever go on as it always has because we’re just tiny ideas occupying borrowed space in the void of the universe, and that’s exactly how it is supposed to be.
Image taken from here.
I dream of you every night,
And it’s always the same;
You sneak into my semi conscious brain
With the subtle footsteps
Of foamy seawaves on a very windy day,
But, that’s okay,
I mean, writing you love letters before I even knew you existed?
I might not know what subtle is,
But if you open the dictionary to the word that’s the opposite of it,
You’re gonna find my picture.
See, you visited me one night,
So is it really my fault if I only sleep in hopes that you will maybe once again?
But I only catch glimpses of your shadow here and there,
I chase your footsteps across the ruins of my mind,
And I think I’m only going around forming crop circles in the blue flower fields.
But then, I wake up in the mornings to 4 PM sunbeams, golden and lovely, scattered all over my pillows and on my cheeks,
And really, I think you need to stop playing this hide and seek with me,
Just drop over into my reality the way I drop my pencils all over the place,
And believe me, love, I’ll draw you like it’s the only thing I’ve ever lived for,
Because that’s true,
And I’ll make you my best masterpiece.
Just the way you are.
I sleep with the nightlight on these days,
And my father looked at me like he didn’t know who I was anymore the next morning
After he saw the faint light peek out under my door one night,
But you change me into someone I never knew I wanted to be,
And I’m here waiting for you with my nightlight on,
In hopes that maybe if you sneak by into my dreams again,
I’ll wake up with your laughter streaked across my eyelids,
In hopes that maybe I’ll see it clearer,
Remember it this time,
Sew your crescent lips into the dark split seconds of each blink,
Hold it close every time the world goes black.
Image found on Tumblr.
Listen, I am a ghost, and you cannot convince me otherwise. I haunt the ones I love and that is why they hate me- I’m a reminder of everything good that was actually only rotten all along and no one likes to be betrayed. My honey tears are molten glass and they will sear into your skin to brand you with my curse. If I were a person I’d be the loneliest in the world but I don’t remember my dreams anymore. I don’t think I can dream anymore, except every morning I wake up with a bigger hole in my gut and I am a hollow ghost of once-there-but-fleeting happiness. I tried to love this world but everyone wears the same mask and all my soulmates have eyes a little too hollow except one. This world glorifies ghosts but doesn’t want to become one, and my heart wants to give out on me before I give up on it. My brain abandoned us to our horrors years ago. The chanting in my ears comes from another place, I think it’s trying to call to me, but I’m a ghost and I can only go where the wind takes me. I floated into an anatomy class once and I know all about humans now, except how to become one. I hear they are fond of making homes in one another the way I sink into my quicksand sadness. Atlas needed a break so I agreed to take his place but now my shoulders hurt and my vertebrae are slowly turning into sawdust. If I crumble and fall entirely, the world will fall with me- who will be left to pick up the mess I make?
Image credits: Shingo Takei, from The World At Night.
I will die
If you don’t come home.
You left so long ago,
I have forgotten your face
And your eyes are blurred in my mind now,
But my soul remembers, I swear it does
And it calls for you-
Sings you lullabies to pull you home,
Strews cherry blossoms in the spring
And dead leaves in the winters
To guide you back
Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten
My voice across the winds,
Don’t tell me you don’t know
Where the golden light leads to
What is it you’ve found
That holds your heart so strong,
You will not leave it to come back home,
What holds you so tight,
The waves cannot bring you back to my shore?
My city is in ruins,
It was only ever made for two,
But I cannot own it alone
And the winds have blown so hard to bring you back to me,
The other half of my city has flown to you too.
What is left of a city when nothing remains?
It only ever belonged to you.
So forget, love,
This city is gone,
These ruins remember nothing;
I would not blame you
If you have forgotten me too
Because I’m in a city that was made for two,
But both halves of it have blown away to you
And I’m left in a desert
Where the earth has never known rain
But it longs for water from what it remembers
Of the ocean that once covered it.
Maybe this is the curse
That comes with my desert city,
That both land and keeper long
For that which has abandoned us.
Image credits: Matt Lief Anderson
Love knocked on my door again last night, but I closed my eyes and put my hands over my ears. I hid under the bed, in the space between reality and dream, and told myself that this wasn’t love, because love was supposed to walk straight in the front door. Love wouldn’t knock on windows and whisper from under doors but disappear once I tried to let it in, love wouldn’t haunt me like the ghost of everyone I let go because they weren’t love. Love would know all the words that always got stuck in the thorns between my ribs, and love would know why they never even got to my throat; love would know all about the skeletons I bury under the wilting blue flowers beneath my window, and why I dig them up every night to cry over them- love would know I’d sooner turn it into one of those skeletons than let it leave me again, and maybe love did know all that but chose to ignore it, so I ignored love as it called me beloved and tried to peer in through lightless windows, because it wasn’t, it wasn’t love. It couldn’t be.
So I let love or maybe love (read: definitely not love) knock softly on my door all through the night, and at dawn, when not-love left, I finally fell asleep to loveless nightmares less scary than the knocks on my door. You see, in my dreams, love didn’t exist, but then neither did maybe love or not love or a possibly, almost kind of love.
Image credits go to owner/s.
Venus, you whisper in my ear
and I sit up awake
with banshee screams weaving themselves back into my throat,
screams of No-No-No,
screams of Screw-the-gods
screams of Please-let-me-stay
until I see it’s only you.
You try to calm me down
as dawn filters in our open window
but my mortal heart thuds and thuds and thuds
a cacophony of
lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub,
and I stare into your face wondering
how you throw around the cursed names
of these gods with so much ease.
Call me not Venus, nor Aphrodite,
I am not Minerva or Persephone,
neither am I Juno,
I am human, I am mortal so let me be,
let me keep my anonymity
away from the gods and their games,
they will only try to make heroes and legends out of me
and demand sacrifices out of what I don’t want to give,
they will only make chess pieces of my heart and mind-
of my loyalty and love.
let me stay here
with my arms around your neck in my faceless oblivion
because these gods live a lonesome life
with only frail humans for playtoys
and they take their pleasure in ripping us apart to put us together,
only to rip us apart again,
if only for the sake of having something to do.
Let me stay whole,
let me be mortal here
hidden in a cocooned world that
they do not know of,
because I have known no poison sweeter than my mortality,
and no truth has given me more joy
that my tired heart might one day
give up on me.
Let me live to die
without tasting the immortals’ cursed ambrosia
let me bleed red hot blood instead of freezing gold ichor;
I paid a small price for my anonymous mortality,
and I fear someday
the buyer will come knocking at my door
for a return,
before Thanatos does.
Image credits go to rightful owners.
I’ve been looking for you for so long, my love, and I’m sorry if I can’t see you even if
you stand right in front of me
because my eyes have been sewn shut so long ago
I cannot remember how to open them anymore, even when the wire that held them
lid to lid
has melted away.
I still only see galaxies painted on the inside of my eyelids
but somewhere between the stars, I once saw a comet tail of your smile
and I’ve been looking for it again ever since;
I’m afraid if I open my eyes I might never get to see it again.
so I stand here,
eyes closed, face to the sky,
I stare right into the hearts of burning stars
as I try to find what makes them burn-
I’m not sure if it might not be you.
I mean, I’m not a dying star but I have iron in my veins and doesn’t that mean the same thing if you have been setting my insides on fire over and over again every time your absence dampens it?
so that must mean you exist, right, that somewhere between these swirls of light and color and dark, you really do walk,
tightrope the threads of time between now to then,
that you live, you breathe, you smile and laugh
that it is your warmth that travels through to me,
right across this vacuum of space that swells up
between my fingers,
between the empty spaces on my bed that have your name across them.
it all must only mean that you exist, that you’re on your way to me right now,
that fate is weaving around our threads until we will be stories that won’t be told apart anymore,
so I stand here, eyes wide open but not, and ask
who can blame me for forgetting how to open my eyes and see, when I’m so caught up in remembering pieces of you I know from before,
from when our atoms came together for a brief moment before they were ripped apart again;
even Zeus feared what our love could do to this world.
Image taken from: Tumblr