.Bundle of Contradictions.

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It’s like I am giving pieces of myself away to them for safekeeping, a way to keep you sort of thriving. They probably have no idea that without you I am the kind of deficient no medication can fix. I miss myself but finding that girl is like getting sleep to come to you when you’ve been awake for too long such that your eyes won’t close even with the constant burn and desire for them to do so.

I was wondering today why I always end up writing in the same theme and someone told me not to worry and to just write about the weird stuff. I realized that you make as much of me as you did before and the place in my heart I always call empty isn’t so but very much occupied by you. It makes me angry at you though because that makes me feel like the sort of lost there is no compass for. The kind that was faced by sailors of the old when clouds would cover the sky and they would curse for all it was worth for the disappearance of the stars. I believe they still knew more about the world with certainty than I do. What do y9o9u do when life spins you around with a blindfold on and dumps you miles away from what you knew to be familiar and then tells you to get your shit together and go home. What do you do when home was where you were naïve and spent nights on a blanket watching the stars, when home was playing basketball in the heat and the smell of warm French toast, when home was the smell of a  dirty boy pushing you behind him just so that you wouldn’t get into a fight with the bigger kids in the park. What do you do when ‘home’ is taken away. Without you I feel like the sort of homeless that comes when the only home I want has boarded up its windows, changed the locks and its location with no new mailing address to forward my letters to.

I feel so guilty feeling all of this because I really do love life and I am happy, I really am, and more importantly, self assured because I need no one for my happiness but there is this underlying sadness that no amount of tears can drown. The problem with keeping up with the current is, you eventually learn to swim. The teardrops fall, still and in tandem. Each one frightened to make its journey with the burden that it carries and so they plunge into their demise bravely within the eyelids with more grace than I deserve on my cheeks. Sometimes your absence hits like a wave that I haven’t planted my feet against and before I have time to adjust, the level keeps on rising taking back with it everything I had built up. It is now such a constant part of life that I don’t even get shocked at the utter callousness of the ocean, directing its wrath so clearly at me time and again.

I am inventing this as I go, This feeling with each drop of hope that builds up then falls out of me, with each time I feel free only to be caught and shackled again. Its like this repetitive beat reverberating within me, reminding me of my lifetime subscription to the same slideshow again and again. The feeling of the car swerving and the small hands clutching at me, positioning me out of the way within that split second when you took my place. The acute realization that it should have been me. The sounds of the hospital, the machines, the people, your voice promising me that everything will be fine.

It seems like a story sometimes, a twisted scene unfolding in front of me as I watch as an onlooker, laughing at its incredulity. There is silence in that version though, the sort of silence few people on this Earth know about. The kind of silence that has its own sound that hurts so much that you feel your eardrums about to burst. The silence that only comes when the last echo of your own laughter has died and only a memory remains of the voices that used to hum to you and pull you back from the darkest nights and most haunting nightmares.

So many pieces have been shattered off that I don’t think I quite remember the whole picture that it was, I just remember it being beautiful and maybe, that’s why I give some pieces away so that maybe, just maybe, someone might be able to make a picture out of it again. With all the focus on the slow dropping through space and the literal crash that scattered all of them to unimaginable places, I forget though that sometimes only one set of hands know how things were before and I would so much rather be broken than put back together in the wrong order by the wrong hands with the wrong glue but the fact that I have people to give them to, a whole village of people actually, makes me want to believe in all the bright, sunny crap they put on bumper stickers. It’s all true and even with the dark and twisty bundle of contradictions that I am, that’s what I’ll choose to believe in.

 

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Scattered thoughts. Incomplete sentences.

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Not bodies. Not people. A bundle of feelings. Memories and Moments. Each light that’s snuffed out leaves a permanent shadow in someone else’s life. Numerous dreams lurking in the dark. Wishes suspended in the sky. Leaving the world darker. Changing things in a way that’s never the same again. A song at an end. The notes fading away. Silence. It’s those left behind that have it the hardest. To come to terms that they would never feel a certain way again. All that’s left being a non-existent future turned to dust. Glossy pictures, Painted smiles, Reminding them of time that shined. A string of I love yous and I’m sorry’s. So much left unsaid. A constant hole, nagging in the chest.The father, the mother, the siblings, not one thinking what if. What if it was the last time? What if the next time we saw the other was in a box of intricate wood with the very flag we fought to wave being the one to wrap it tight. A veil between all that was familiar and what is now and would be. Not one life, but a million others tangled. All along never realizing the beauty of the life that had been theirs. Building life from its foundations, always wanting to change its structure, always vying for what they didn’t have. Building life, to die.

No Going Back.

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Loss changes you. It might not be a change as visible as a splash of colour on a black and white painting but its definitely as if there is a slight shift in everything around us. As if the molecules disassemble and rearrange themselves, changing everything even as life moves on the same way like before, leaving us stranded on the shore.

You can pretend all you like, but the person looking back at you in the mirror is no longer whole and the empty place echoing within you does nothing to hide it.

You never really recover from some things. They call it heartbreak, because that’s exactly what happens. Your heart breaks and you’re never whole again and you can live or mask the scars with laughter and happiness but it sneaks up on you; The absolute cruelty of it all, the woes of your depraved soul desperate to find itself again and its all you can do to take a deep breath and smile.

Loss does one of two things to those it leaves behind – It meshes us together, forcing us to let go of every feeling we know to form some semblance of an existence again, or it tears open the wound, making us slowly bleed out, widening the divide so much that we’d do whatever it takes to try and pretend that shit’s not real. We know better though. Its a nightmare you cannot escape, no matter how much you scream and beg to be let out off. You’ll always be the person holding your war stories close, proud of your scars even as you lock them away within the confines of your heart. Always, at the precipice of insanity and even you go back to life, you know, in reality, there is no going back.

Game Over.

Life’s a game. We being simply the little objects on the screen played by God’s joystick, controlled by the buttons fate and destiny. We try doing everything our way, try to deflect our fate, to screw it in the face. What we don’t realize is that no matter which path we take, which jump we make our every action leads us back to that same destination and that is where we are all ultimately headed. We plan and plan and set our aims high, dreams flying and soaring high up in the sky. Fighting all sides, up, down, jump! Destiny making us go along, completing each stage, making us think we are winning, that we have the upper hand. You take shortcuts, use cheats, all to defy fate, to throw it off guard with our oh so genius moves smiling inside sure that you have now won.

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But you are wrong. Cheated by destiny which makes you think it’s leading you towards victory. After all, fate is the essence of the game, written by God himself. Going above all our tricks and schemes, striking down the game we built bit by bit and we’re helpless watching it all go ablaze the bright colors in the sparks of light. You shiver as you feel the cold wind bringing our very end. Blowing away the smoke as the embers die. The notes of the song fade away. The trumpet blows. The fanfare tune that signals Game Over. Signals ‘The End’

Inevitability.

Why do people avoid talking about death?

I mean, its the most inevitable thing in life. Our journey towards death starts from the time we are conceived. Some of us live long enough to wait for its inevitability while most of the others are stunned by its appearance when it comes.

Its a curious thing, the death of a loved one. It makes you hyper aware of the things you failed to take notice of before, even while plunging you into numbness. Maybe if we talked about it, it wouldn’t hit us so hard and we wouldn’t be shattered on impact. We wouldn’t be so lost, crippling under the weight of the grief and the forced realization of the mirage life offers.

Why do people avoid talking about death?I mean its the most inevitable thing in life; I just figure they’d be better off embracing its reality than to ignore its existence altogether.

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