(no subject)
It felt like my last night on Earth.
I always kind of wondered what it would be like if I knew that no one was gonna make it until morning, that a comet was going to hit the planet, or nukes were already sure to be in bound and there were only a few hours left.
Last night I found out what it was like to know I couldn't have any more heart for the important things in my life because in the morning they'd be gone.
The lights of the city shimmered and the stars overhead wheeled slowly away from the dawn, indifferent to the plight of man. I drank it all in, trying in vain to burn it onto the back of my skull, so I could come back and visit. It sounds overly dramatic, but sometimes high exposition is the only way to describe a moment. Especially when it's nothing like any other moment you've had before. Especially when a situation is impossible and the things you want and need don't matter anymore, because the world goes on without your say so as the seconds tick away. Knowing there's no way to stop time and just enjoy what you have, or what you had, and be fulfilled about it, get real closure.
Knowing a piece of you is leaving and is never coming back. Having to wave good bye and be a good sport about it. Taking your lumps for doing the right thing after wards, sitting on the phone and listening to someone angrily and skillfully pick your clockwork apart after feeling like you were a real human boy for once. How debasing to know you weren't confused but still deserve to be shamed by someone who trusted you. Truly, being an adult is the most depressing thing a human being has to do. It is what makes us old. It's what kills our childlike wonder. It discourages us from risk and love and adventure. The hurt is so real and big you want to tear it out of your body and stomp it down into the gutter, leave it to die in the sewage and other undesired by products of the world. But the hurt is there with you for the long haul and won't be ignored. It is a parasite that wants to be fed wreckless behavior, it feeds on your inability to know how to move forward.
The only thing worse is the looming forgetfulness. As we get older, the brain slowly burn out, loses capacity. And with time, "sic transit gloria" - glory fades. And knowing this, sitting there in the moment, feeling the firey ember of unnamed emotions slowly dying within... it's all a person like me can do to not feed what's left, give it oxygen. If only because it will be that much longer before it burns out.
My heart echos like cold winter wind through the trees on Christmas Eve. To the mystic it seems like spirits are leaving, going to a better place. To the lover, it seems the the sound is me sighing away the consequence of having felt real things in this dead hollow world. To me... to me it is the sound of lifting all the things I must bear onto my back to travel the long road I must walk ahead. And I will be stoned. And I will stumble. And I will want to stop and rest. But if I do not walk this road and endure, how can I expect you to respect me at all? How can any of the things I said seem real to you if I can't even stand firm when I want to crumble into your arms and retreat to our island?
How can I love you if I can't be asked to sacrifice in the name of that love? I can't be a lesser man in your eyes than I already might be, and it's for these reasons what comes next will hurt us. Even as I walk, and I pass you and move on to another place, it breaks my fucking heart that this was all I could do in the real world to prove myself to you. That it was impossible to show you in a better way how I felt. That no one but us understands this, but we are the only ones being asked to deny it.
I can't ask for a future and I can't deny the past. I only have the fading moments and tears that won't come. And I will do all of this with you beside me, being your rock when you need one and respecting your choice and the rules that come with it. But don't ever think that I do these things because I thought we were wrong, or bad, or worthless, or impure, or caught up in lust, or mistaken, or fleeting, or dirty, or lost, or misplacing trust, or confused.
For a weekend, things made sense and I had a future I wanted. Even if it was just in my head. Even when the end was already here. And that's what I hold onto. As I walk along beside you, miles apart.
I always kind of wondered what it would be like if I knew that no one was gonna make it until morning, that a comet was going to hit the planet, or nukes were already sure to be in bound and there were only a few hours left.
Last night I found out what it was like to know I couldn't have any more heart for the important things in my life because in the morning they'd be gone.
The lights of the city shimmered and the stars overhead wheeled slowly away from the dawn, indifferent to the plight of man. I drank it all in, trying in vain to burn it onto the back of my skull, so I could come back and visit. It sounds overly dramatic, but sometimes high exposition is the only way to describe a moment. Especially when it's nothing like any other moment you've had before. Especially when a situation is impossible and the things you want and need don't matter anymore, because the world goes on without your say so as the seconds tick away. Knowing there's no way to stop time and just enjoy what you have, or what you had, and be fulfilled about it, get real closure.
Knowing a piece of you is leaving and is never coming back. Having to wave good bye and be a good sport about it. Taking your lumps for doing the right thing after wards, sitting on the phone and listening to someone angrily and skillfully pick your clockwork apart after feeling like you were a real human boy for once. How debasing to know you weren't confused but still deserve to be shamed by someone who trusted you. Truly, being an adult is the most depressing thing a human being has to do. It is what makes us old. It's what kills our childlike wonder. It discourages us from risk and love and adventure. The hurt is so real and big you want to tear it out of your body and stomp it down into the gutter, leave it to die in the sewage and other undesired by products of the world. But the hurt is there with you for the long haul and won't be ignored. It is a parasite that wants to be fed wreckless behavior, it feeds on your inability to know how to move forward.
The only thing worse is the looming forgetfulness. As we get older, the brain slowly burn out, loses capacity. And with time, "sic transit gloria" - glory fades. And knowing this, sitting there in the moment, feeling the firey ember of unnamed emotions slowly dying within... it's all a person like me can do to not feed what's left, give it oxygen. If only because it will be that much longer before it burns out.
My heart echos like cold winter wind through the trees on Christmas Eve. To the mystic it seems like spirits are leaving, going to a better place. To the lover, it seems the the sound is me sighing away the consequence of having felt real things in this dead hollow world. To me... to me it is the sound of lifting all the things I must bear onto my back to travel the long road I must walk ahead. And I will be stoned. And I will stumble. And I will want to stop and rest. But if I do not walk this road and endure, how can I expect you to respect me at all? How can any of the things I said seem real to you if I can't even stand firm when I want to crumble into your arms and retreat to our island?
How can I love you if I can't be asked to sacrifice in the name of that love? I can't be a lesser man in your eyes than I already might be, and it's for these reasons what comes next will hurt us. Even as I walk, and I pass you and move on to another place, it breaks my fucking heart that this was all I could do in the real world to prove myself to you. That it was impossible to show you in a better way how I felt. That no one but us understands this, but we are the only ones being asked to deny it.
I can't ask for a future and I can't deny the past. I only have the fading moments and tears that won't come. And I will do all of this with you beside me, being your rock when you need one and respecting your choice and the rules that come with it. But don't ever think that I do these things because I thought we were wrong, or bad, or worthless, or impure, or caught up in lust, or mistaken, or fleeting, or dirty, or lost, or misplacing trust, or confused.
For a weekend, things made sense and I had a future I wanted. Even if it was just in my head. Even when the end was already here. And that's what I hold onto. As I walk along beside you, miles apart.