❝day 002❞
day 002. your first love. (in great detail.)
How can I describe this? Ah, yes.
❝Immaculate eyes of blue, deep but not so much as to lead you astray. Each syllable you speak are like the birds that flutter behind closed eyes; delicate but withstanding all weathers. I don’t know when I lost my way, I’m not quite sure when it became a chore to stay here and dwell with you, but that’s part of the fun of it. I guess life has a habit of giving you sudden moments of “eureka’s” amongst all of the nays. You pull at the collar that begins to choke you; I watch with eagerness as your neck bends and curves as you turn your head towards others to speak. The dip of your collarbone shows your masculinity; I bask in it. I want nothing more than to spread cold fingers on the warmth of your skin. The contrast would be oh so lovely. To feel the bumps and grooves, the smooth and the rough. To feel the tingling of your skin as it clashes with the atmosphere.❞
Many of you have read this already due to it being posted at my drabbles community, however, I am not sure if any of you know it was to describe my first love. It was around Christmas if I recall, we were playing a ridiculous game called Elephant and he turned to look at someone. His neck strained and his body tensed in turning too far. It was a gorgeous sight even if he was a bit uncomfortable it seemed. The story behind this is not clever or particularly strong memory of him, but oddly enough: it was the one that got written down. Maybe it holds more significance than I first thought.
However, due to my love being one-sided (although, I did not have the heart to find out exactly. I decided that if I'd rather not risk the friendship-it was not a love I felt should continue in this manner) I have since withdrawn myself from such thoughts. Every so often the love will trickle in like a persistent rain, but it is less painful and more nostalgic as if to say, "I loved you once." But no more. He deserves so much happiness, so much beauty, love and needs I have realized I would never fulfill. I am better for it because I can move on, and support him the way he needs-rather than the way I wish to support him (as a lover not a friend).
❝I wanted to know I was something. I wanted to believe I was important. There were times when our eyes locked, and I thought I saw something more. However, looks don’t last forever, and looks do not prove what should be told in words. We were so close, and yet so far. When I look back, I wonder, just briefly, what would have happened if looks had turned into something more.
My goal is that you never realize too late how much I loved you, and how much you love me. Never do I wish to see you suffer. But maybe you may come to understand what it’s like to be on the outside looking in, and realizing you’re lingering in something you never once had the ability to grasp.
This is my way, of letting you go.
It’s time I finally start looking forward.
Good-bye, old friend.❞
A part of my heart will linger there-in that place. However since my heart did not fully dwell there I flee from this love with most of my heart, and only a chip in my armor. My first love was innocent, pure and nostalgic. I fell in love with what he represented, what he was, rather than him. I cannot justify a love that is an idealizing love, not a love that will last anyways. And so, this came along after both this, and myself feeling being torn from this friend due to him not putting effort in our friendship: and sadly I cannot reach any further.
❝It was strange, this feeling. Most would call it acceptance. Some would call it recognition. Maybe even the feeling of finally giving it up?
I stared at their faces, and sighed. Where was this all leading me to? I breathed, and took a step back. There was a part of me that hesitated, did I really want to do this? I clenched my jaw in determination, and in fear. Slowly I turned and walked away. I was tired of lingering, of being a memory in time-when I was younger. I was sick of being apart of the food-chain that decomposed the bodies but never got to see them run. I was sick of sucking in air that coated my lungs in death, in hate, in self-loathing, of bitterness, self-pity, loneliness in a crowd. There was a time when life would batter me with ferocity, and I would let it consume me. And there were times when I looked at the mirror and screamed at myself, "who are you!" She never replied back, but instead rose a hand to her face and reached for me. She was trapped, and so lonely, and I-I could feel it. Listlessness. We were wandering souls, her and I.
I cried then. I no longer want to be strong, or proud, or tough.
I just want a small feeling of not being empty.
It was funny, I never looked back. Their laughter faded in and out of my ears, piercing them like a shrill laugh trying to coax me back. My steps were heavy, and I felt I might sink into the floor. Closing my eyes, all of the laughter stopped, all of the clapping, and smiles. It was time to let them live without my smile. They were a past that when I look back I have to strain to find the meaning. Shouldn't I be able to recite every beautiful memory with little effort? Shouldn't I look back and see their faces, and laugh with such...happiness? Sadness? Grief? Tears? Pain? Loss? Hope? ...I felt hopeless.
Opening back up sore eyes, I saw my mother laughing at a joke. I was glad she was the first thing my eyes danced upon when I decided I was done trying. I have come to realize I need her more than I first imagined.
The book shut tightly, and she uncurled her body to stand. Each note she read, each phrase, each line, each word, strike-through, italic, scribble, doodle, tear stained pages, every frayed end was her life. The book was still unfinished, but as the last words etched into her eighteenth chapter, chapter nineteen quietly stroked across the next page. Sadly, the characters in this story would not be the same, but maybe, maybe, it was time this chapter set a course for the future. For the pages still to come.
It's time to stop looking in the past, stop clutching my heart in self-pity, and stand up, and do something. Farewell old friends. Farewell. This I do leave as a silent pleading that your life: is beautiful. So beautiful.❞
I feel like my heart is bleeding, but I have to move forward for a new day.
I must walk on. I must.
How can I describe this? Ah, yes.
❝Immaculate eyes of blue, deep but not so much as to lead you astray. Each syllable you speak are like the birds that flutter behind closed eyes; delicate but withstanding all weathers. I don’t know when I lost my way, I’m not quite sure when it became a chore to stay here and dwell with you, but that’s part of the fun of it. I guess life has a habit of giving you sudden moments of “eureka’s” amongst all of the nays. You pull at the collar that begins to choke you; I watch with eagerness as your neck bends and curves as you turn your head towards others to speak. The dip of your collarbone shows your masculinity; I bask in it. I want nothing more than to spread cold fingers on the warmth of your skin. The contrast would be oh so lovely. To feel the bumps and grooves, the smooth and the rough. To feel the tingling of your skin as it clashes with the atmosphere.❞
Many of you have read this already due to it being posted at my drabbles community, however, I am not sure if any of you know it was to describe my first love. It was around Christmas if I recall, we were playing a ridiculous game called Elephant and he turned to look at someone. His neck strained and his body tensed in turning too far. It was a gorgeous sight even if he was a bit uncomfortable it seemed. The story behind this is not clever or particularly strong memory of him, but oddly enough: it was the one that got written down. Maybe it holds more significance than I first thought.
However, due to my love being one-sided (although, I did not have the heart to find out exactly. I decided that if I'd rather not risk the friendship-it was not a love I felt should continue in this manner) I have since withdrawn myself from such thoughts. Every so often the love will trickle in like a persistent rain, but it is less painful and more nostalgic as if to say, "I loved you once." But no more. He deserves so much happiness, so much beauty, love and needs I have realized I would never fulfill. I am better for it because I can move on, and support him the way he needs-rather than the way I wish to support him (as a lover not a friend).
❝I wanted to know I was something. I wanted to believe I was important. There were times when our eyes locked, and I thought I saw something more. However, looks don’t last forever, and looks do not prove what should be told in words. We were so close, and yet so far. When I look back, I wonder, just briefly, what would have happened if looks had turned into something more.
My goal is that you never realize too late how much I loved you, and how much you love me. Never do I wish to see you suffer. But maybe you may come to understand what it’s like to be on the outside looking in, and realizing you’re lingering in something you never once had the ability to grasp.
This is my way, of letting you go.
It’s time I finally start looking forward.
Good-bye, old friend.❞
A part of my heart will linger there-in that place. However since my heart did not fully dwell there I flee from this love with most of my heart, and only a chip in my armor. My first love was innocent, pure and nostalgic. I fell in love with what he represented, what he was, rather than him. I cannot justify a love that is an idealizing love, not a love that will last anyways. And so, this came along after both this, and myself feeling being torn from this friend due to him not putting effort in our friendship: and sadly I cannot reach any further.
❝It was strange, this feeling. Most would call it acceptance. Some would call it recognition. Maybe even the feeling of finally giving it up?
I stared at their faces, and sighed. Where was this all leading me to? I breathed, and took a step back. There was a part of me that hesitated, did I really want to do this? I clenched my jaw in determination, and in fear. Slowly I turned and walked away. I was tired of lingering, of being a memory in time-when I was younger. I was sick of being apart of the food-chain that decomposed the bodies but never got to see them run. I was sick of sucking in air that coated my lungs in death, in hate, in self-loathing, of bitterness, self-pity, loneliness in a crowd. There was a time when life would batter me with ferocity, and I would let it consume me. And there were times when I looked at the mirror and screamed at myself, "who are you!" She never replied back, but instead rose a hand to her face and reached for me. She was trapped, and so lonely, and I-I could feel it. Listlessness. We were wandering souls, her and I.
I cried then. I no longer want to be strong, or proud, or tough.
I just want a small feeling of not being empty.
It was funny, I never looked back. Their laughter faded in and out of my ears, piercing them like a shrill laugh trying to coax me back. My steps were heavy, and I felt I might sink into the floor. Closing my eyes, all of the laughter stopped, all of the clapping, and smiles. It was time to let them live without my smile. They were a past that when I look back I have to strain to find the meaning. Shouldn't I be able to recite every beautiful memory with little effort? Shouldn't I look back and see their faces, and laugh with such...happiness? Sadness? Grief? Tears? Pain? Loss? Hope? ...I felt hopeless.
Opening back up sore eyes, I saw my mother laughing at a joke. I was glad she was the first thing my eyes danced upon when I decided I was done trying. I have come to realize I need her more than I first imagined.
The book shut tightly, and she uncurled her body to stand. Each note she read, each phrase, each line, each word, strike-through, italic, scribble, doodle, tear stained pages, every frayed end was her life. The book was still unfinished, but as the last words etched into her eighteenth chapter, chapter nineteen quietly stroked across the next page. Sadly, the characters in this story would not be the same, but maybe, maybe, it was time this chapter set a course for the future. For the pages still to come.
It's time to stop looking in the past, stop clutching my heart in self-pity, and stand up, and do something. Farewell old friends. Farewell. This I do leave as a silent pleading that your life: is beautiful. So beautiful.❞
I feel like my heart is bleeding, but I have to move forward for a new day.
I must walk on. I must.