The moment you stop declaring a physical space your home is the moment you begin to feel euphoric, unattached, free. Free of the physical pull and capable of creating a consciousness—a mental space—in which you not only survive—but also thrive—and through which you become a better, more aware version of yourself. A mental space which considers physicality to be nothing but an option—a possibility; a physicality which should not be expected nor presumed to be anything but what it is and what it will be.
Today I missed you.
Not because I want you back, or because I ever want to go back to that place. But something about the familiarity, I miss. The comfort in security… in consistency… in knowing what to expect… though I’m creating a contradiction here based on the reality of the situation. And I’m aware of that. I’m aware of everything wrong and everything dark that was once us. But sometimes I steer away from that—voluntary or not—and on days like today, I miss you.
The truth is, neither of us know what the fuck we’re doing here. How we ended up here. The purpose behind our presence, our choice, our being. In this room. Together. Sitting on this bed, side by side, looking up occasionally to see if the other has reacted to the situation. Over-thinking. Over-analyzing. Brain-eating. Chances are, we’re wondering the same questions. The questions that have been both the blood and the blood clot in our veins, restraining the heart the point of no forgiveness.
The walls on each end of the room seem magnetic to one another, drawing closer, barely leaving any room to breathe. Misty clouds float within the archive of thoughts that is my mind. As one thought appears, the next is already on the way and I’ve barely glanced at the last. Sometimes all it takes is a glimpse of what you want to give you that taste to crave time and time again. Sometimes when you get too far from that target, it’s hard to imagine it appearing again. I don’t know why the four walls of this room have brought us back here together. I don’t know if it even matters. All i know is that I’m fucking scared.
Addicted to the chaos, smooth roads were never stimulating. We wake up begging for a challenge, but not the type that requires arising from bed. Destruction is what we do best. Not just today, but everyday, we feel like destroying something beautiful.
I said maybe one day we’ll end up in the same city. Lost within the over-shining of city lights, the stars will have no value to anyone but us. Maybe we’ll fly a kite at night. Maybe we’ll make it outshine the stars. Maybe we’ll rearrange the galaxy the way we’ve always dreamed of.
Our love is exhausted, undernourished, and ready to give in. It’s been abused one too many times and its meaning is beginning to fade. Why do we love? For love is the highest of highs, and every high calls for a low. A low we’re never quite prepared for.
Our love is fragile, our hearts foolish, and our logic out the door. We’re young, we’re in love, and we’re fucking scared.
“The heart can forgive”, we repeat.
The rapid color change in leaves suggests Autumn has arrived and she’s not shying away from making herself apparent. Each leaf, dangling from branches, waits to give up its place on the branch to a fresh, new leaf for a chance of starting over.
Autumn is nature’s new year; it’s the January 1st of a reality that contains more than drinking ourselves to a coma by midnight. It’s the change we scream for all year long- the change of color, change of direction that our blood and bones ache for. Autumn is disposing of all mistakes, deception and dishonesty that got buried and forgotten underneath the dirty snow all winter long. It’s the all-forgiving confessional we give ourselves to when nothing else works.
Because sometimes, amongst the chaos of season changes, we lose ourselves. We forget our true colors and we forget that honesty with self is they key to peace and balance. A self-provoking metamorphoses is necessary in order to gain back that raw core deep within ourselves that’s shying away from making itself apparent. Autumn forces me to search, to scratch, and to rip open all that is in me to find the core I’ve been missing. I’m transforming; I’m giving up my place on the branch in hopes of a fresh, new beginning. My colors are beginning to reappear, and I couldn’t name a single thing I’d want more.
Put your head on my shoulder and rest a while. You’ve exhausted yourself in this circle of love and disappointment. Maybe it’s that we predict every up will have a down. Maybe it’s that every down has a predictable up we’ve already experienced. And let’s face it, we’re just not impressed.
It’s a self-deprecating prison we’ve locked ourselves in; we hate ourselves a little more every time our natural tendencies don’t intermix. We’ve begun this journey in an endless black stream. We dove right in with sharks swimming freely. “It’s a risk”, you said, “something to tackle on your on days.” But we soon realized the only way to end every journey in a viscous steam such as this means hitting a rock on the way. Each hit leaves more scratches than the last. Every scratch cares less about the past. Paralyzed, we keep moving forward.
You cornered me, you made me stay. You told me better days are better than they say.
Something pretty, something smart. The green of your eye never did tell it all. A jewel that’s burrowed underneath the sand. Disillusion is easily achieved once underneath dangerous grounds. But you breathe fire and you do it well. The risk is not your problem if it’s in someone else’s hands.
Something pretty, something swell. Something to keep me counting on starless nights. You’re breathing fire, you’re making me sweat. You’ve turned this body of mine into a self-threatening threat. But breathing that fire, you do it well. And when you’re gone I’ll want it all right back.
Relief is a measure I look for in everything, and I often find myself finding relief in the absence of it all. Eliminating any one element, good or bad, leaving those lungs that much more room to expand and release.
I can’t keep good things to myself, I tend to give them away. Like the good you dragged with you to the table; appreciated as water, overwhelming as a flood. The glistening of the water is what took me by surprise.
But walking along shore of these gray tides brings no comfort to my Taurean eyes. Your words of comfort arrive at their leisure. Your words of wisdom barely exist.
These words, they crawl out of your mouth. Sneaky as the devil’s wit. Clever as a young man’s charm. The vacuum that is the welcome sign to your heart. You almost had me.