Love Lost

HER

She lightly touched his shoulder.

The touch was simple, out of sympathy for his lost, but upon touching the soft fabric of his white cotton shirt, she found her hand heavy, remaining there. He looked up, until now, his head had been bowed low, he sat facing the open ocean, and as he looked up at her; his dark black eyes deep and infinitely broken, the wind blew his hair out of his face and he stared. Her hand hadn’t moved, and she felt his gaze lock into hers, it was if they had never known anyone until this moment, as his world connected with hers and she saw every broken crack in his heart, as if it were a shattered mirror. His face was serene, pale and looked like porcelain, but his eyes; his irises went deep, as if going on forever, a deep pool of black that she could not come up for air from. 

She still hadn’t moved her hand, it felt attached to his shoulder; she sat next to him, her hand awkwardly on his shoulder, his head turned awkwardly towards her as he stared deep into her, searching for peace. She knew that she wasn’t his peace, that she was the product of turmoil, but she let his eyes search her, looking through every folder of pained destruction, every moment of passion and every fragment of loneliness. She wondered if he too felt her searching him for a life raft. They were both broken, and lost in a world of ugly truths and lonely nights. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but he said nothing, his lips; pouted and light pink, were parted but nothing came out. She felt herself slowly move her head from left to right, they hadn’t known one another for very long, but she wasn’t going to let him say what she felt. He nodded, and looked back towards the sea, breaking the connection. 

He was frowning now, and she slowly placed her heavy hand back into her lap, they both stared out towards the ocean. She didn’t understand this world, or why it had brought them here, to this impasse, one where they would both leave this funeral and go back to their lives on separate sides of the world. She hadn’t seen him in years until someone they had both loved had died, and she had come to the funeral. After, she had found herself gravitated towards the beach, needing air, needing to get away from the pull of pain, and that’s when she had found him sitting on the wall, staring out towards the beach. She knew that it had been his sister, he still wore the black suit pants, the tie was undone and his hair looked tussled, but he hadn’t cried or said a word, he hadn’t moved at all until she had sat next to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. 

She looked away from the grey water raging below them, there was going to be a storm, but neither of them moved, the cold replaced the pain in their chests. She turned her head and faced him, she hadn’t realized he was looking at her again, he looked pained. She knew she loved him.

HIM

He felt the small hand on his shoulder.

And he turned to face the woman who sat next to him, he hadn’t moved since she had sat down, he had no interest in speaking, he knew that he couldn’t. Her touch had seemed to give him a small amount of energy that allowed him to turn and face her. When they made eye contact, he saw a flicker of surprise flash on her face, he wanted to smile as her mouth formed a slight O, but he couldn’t make his face move. She was beautiful, she had been a friend of his sisters that he had only met once, and he knew that she was married and stayed a far way away. 

Her hand hadn't move from his shoulder. He allowed himself to look deep into her eyes, in a way he had not looked at anybody in a long time, he was trying to find a reason for existence, a reason to carry on being when all he had kept being lost. His heart felt heavy in his chest and her green eyes looked like an open field in the country side. He wanted to dive into the deep green and stay there, comforted by the beauty and light it held. He wondered if he should thank her for coming, but he couldn’t say the words. She shook her head, as if she knew what he was about to say, so he turned back to face the sea, the waves were crashing against the shore; angry. 

He felt her hand move off his shoulder, as she slowly put it back into her own lap, he had liked the feel of her warm skin against the cold of his shoulder, he had felt the current through the cotton and now it was gone. He wondered if it would be easier to walk into the ocean, and have the raging of it blast against his skin, instead of having the raging of oceans inside his chest. He could see himself walking out towards the sea, opening his arms, and greeting it like an old friend as it engulfed him and took him. He turned to face her again to rid himself of the thoughts. She seemed to be deep in thought, her red hair was blowing out towards the back, he knew that the wind would make it knotty, but for now it blew with the wind as if she was a part of the elements. 

He could smell her from where he sat, she smelled of fresh rosemary, of comfort, and he liked that it soothed him. It soothed him, but as she turned to face him, surprised again, he found himself wanting to reach out and trace the freckles on her skin with his fingertips. And he knew that he loved her.

 

They sat like that until the rain started, staring at one another and searching, the first drops came, light at first and then hard, they were both soaked when they knew that it was too late, the connection had to be lost and so they both walked to their separate cars, and went home to their families, neither ever forgetting the other.

Katie Melua, Malboro Red and Love

It’s difficult to write, when you have no idea what it is you want to say. It’s actually quite silly that it’s an on-going circle, you want to write to understand yourself, but can’t write because you don’t. So the key I think, is for me to stop procrastinating, and just, start. I’ve even made a writing playlist, if I’m truthful it really is only all the sad songs on my phone that will put me in the proper head space to actually explain myself. I’m going to light a cigarette now. There, now I feel like the tormented writer I am, Katie Melua and Malboro Red to get me literate.

I’ve heard over and over again, how people only call upon God in their hour of need, I feel like I am completely opposite to that, both in prayer and in terms of writing. In my hour of need, usually it isn’t just an hour, rather it’s a long period of time that feels like a life time, I find myself shying away from things that make me face myself. I’m more likely to face myself when I’m happy, when there are good things to trip on. I’ve been drinking a lot, dancing a lot and kissing a lot, in order to rid myself of myself, but here’s what I’m trying to do, what we all should, just like Dain told me tonight, accept who I am.

You know about me, you’ve read my stuff, but there’s another component to me, one that I shy away from people because the idea of them seeing me, truly seeing me, frightens me so much. I spend a lot of my time, trying to figure this life out, what I’m doing here in fact. I’m very dark a lot of the time, but that part of me is hard to explain, you see – I have no intention of making it out to be that because I have God in my life, everything is fine and dandy, maybe subconsciously this is what I was doing by shying away from this for so long. But it is that, the fact that I have God in my life, that it is time for me to understand what I am and the fact that I, perceive myself to be someone broken and tormented by the people I’ve scared, the hearts I’ve broken and the minds I’ve poisoned.

You wouldn’t see it as poisoning minds, in fact I dare to say that those I have poisoned don’t think so either, but I feel like I have. I have given people, this notion of love that is never ending and everlasting, perfect and blissful and then taken it away, because in the end I realize how much I don't feel loved myself. That never was their fault though, I couldn't feel what I couldn't understand. I showed them this perfect love and romance, but in fact, even though I believe it exists out there, it wasn't real with us. I’m sorry to say that now, especially if one of them were to read that, but to me, I was giving them the love I thought they deserved, that everyone deserved but in fact I was robbing them, robbing them of what was real.

I have lived my life for a long time as if I was a character in a book, saying the right thing, doing the right thing, making the right gestures, and kissing the right way. I don’t even mean it metaphorically, I literally sit and plan out and write in my head, or tell myself the story as I say what I say, or do what I do. I was a liar and I hate liars. The thing about losing yourself to so many characters, is that along the way, you lose yourself completely. I no longer know who I actually am, whether what I feel or say is real, or if I’ve said something just because it is precisely what has to be said. You’d think it were absurd for someone to be so sure of themselves, but you’ve never been with me, or had a conversation with me, I’m just that good; that good at manipulation and that good of a writer and actress.

I don’t mean to say I don’t care for them; the people I have been with, that I’ve told I love you too. They know that I carry the guilt of their pain I caused with me for the rest of my life, that now I am connected to them and would do anything for them because I’ve done something so inconceivable, and they all deserved better. One of my exes once told me that I sold her a fairy tale, that that’s what I did, I sold a fairy tale that didn’t exist. And that hit me, because yes I do sell a fairy tale, but I’d left her not believing in its existence. And it does exist.

All in all, I am sorry to all those I’ve poisoned, and I pray they will find love, real true and honest love.

Experience

I have only recently realized that there is light in this world, that my world need not be plagued by a darkness so black it holds my soul in it's clutches squeezing out every sense of grace and kindness. That this light, holds me and gives me a sense of purpose and kindness now, that when I am faced with opportunity to be disdainful, un appreciative and unkind, I now rather turn to God, and He allows and wills me to be better.

With the acceptance of light, I am also confronted by the black. One can't accept one of them and not the other. So I am aware of the devil now, creeping into my thoughts and limbs, and willing me to do things that will distract me from the path I want to fulfill.

It is so much easier to give into things of the night, to give into worldly pleasures that give you moments of bliss and highs, but at the end of the day leave you feeling no better, and if anything, worse about yourself. I've experienced these worldly pleasures, the dark desires of what once was my brooding soul, I've experienced these things. When I say things of the night, I am speaking about everything that comes to your mind when I say it, we all find different things pleasurable after all. I have experienced these things, the over use of drugs, and booze, and women's mouths, things that left me vacant and unhinged. I have experienced them, and I have been made whole again and have no intention of turning back to them. But I have no regrets, they have taught me.

I feel guilty now when I crave a high or a drunken state, but I know now that I crave it not for the idea of running away from my tormented soul. But rather just to let go, and enjoy the small things in life. We so easily make things that should be small, our lives. I believe that we are allowed to find pleasure on this earth if we are not abusing it, and holding it above God, we must be thankful and appreciative for what He allows.

The devil exists, evils exist, even in the hearts of those who don't believe in satan, or are followers to him, it even exists in the hearts of those of us following Jesus, and being cleansed in His love. Evil shows in the moments that you are feeling truly horrible, when you want to spew your own venom onto others, to spread your uneasiness, when you are hurting others or hurting yourself. Evil encourages pleasure at the harm of others AND yourself.

There is pleasure in Evil. But there is majesty and love in God. It is up to you to prefer which you want, both of them are waiting for you to take the first step.

The Hill

I sit on the top of the hill, my hands are bruised and my nails are torn from the climb, my feet have blisters and my throat is dry. On my arms, thighs and sides are knife wounds I'd given myself, just as a reminder that I was alive. They'll ask me if it was worth it, I know. But as I sit here, holding my knees under my chin, and staring out far below towards the din, I believe I am safe.

You see where I came from, there were wars and struggles, but the violence and hate was all in my mind. I saw bombs explode and fragmented body parts land all around my irises, and I almost smelled them, I almost smelled the stench of the dead curl up and comfort me, as I sat there knowing about the hill but so afraid to climb.

There was love too, but it was the ripping kind, that tore at my soul, and left me feeling boundless, uncontrolled. I gave pieces of myself listlessly, watching as others carelessly used peices of my soul trying to fix their own. Once I touched her face, and my hand fell through air, because she never was really there.

I lied there some nights, at bottom of the hill, pretending I was just the road, and let thousands of feet trample on the very essence of my being. Their feet digging into my skin, into my hair, kicking at me, and breaking bits of me. I use to stare up at the stars, and pretend I was somewhere right above there.

At the bottom of the hill, there was everything I could have wanted, but nothing I really needed. I got high, and smiled too much and drank so much I couldn't feel my own face, but the next morning I woke up, and my hands were all bruised up, because I'd been fighting with my demons again.

You see, as I sit on top of the hill now, I watch all those that were with me go by, and I want to pull them up but no one reaches their hand for a lift. Because people like the bottom of the hill, it's safer down there. There where there is no way to fail or to fall, there were life is sleazy and out of control.

And as I sit here, my insides are getting warm and my wounds begin healing slowly, I turn my face to the sky and I smile, because as I reach my hand out, I touch the sun. And I'm lifted away from it all.

Our Father

It has gotten to that point in the evening, where I find myself sending my last goodnight text, when I lock my room door and I visit the toilet for the last time. I'm now sitting in the period that holds way word thinking, the type that gets people looking at you funny and awkwardly moving away from you to someone more, easy to understand. That's okay with me, because if you didn't understand me, I wouldn't want you here either way. I'm not a poet, and I thought I was a novelist but I'm not that either. I'm very misdirected in my writing, but I find myself writing best in conversation, when I'm trying to convince someone of something.

The way I see it, there is only one type of person on this earth. We are, however, defined by a number of rather trivial and inconsequential factors, such as race, language or intelligence. Now don't get me wrong, no one likes having a conversation with an idiot. But by intelligence, I don't mean how quickly you can regurgitate your textbook to me, but rather how quickly you can some up your own views on the world and what you see as your morality. It isn't easy, but I'm not asking, I'm telling you that that's what I identify intelligence as. You simply are not smart for being able to remember things. Now let me get back to my point, one type of person in the world and that is a sinner. We cannot say that none of us have made mistakes, and are flawed, that we did not step into a puddle of disaster of our own doing, or tried to retrace the steps to what we've succumbed to. When I say we're sinners, I mean it in the most beautiful term of the word, and that is in the sense that even though we are sinners, we're allowed this opportunity at mercy and grace, that we have the choice to rise above what we have done, and create a path for ourselves not overshadowed by disgrace and moral failure. When I say sinner, I mean someone with the ability to rise above everything they have done and repent.

For nineteen years, I've been sinning, and I will for the rest of my life, but it's only very recently that I've fully allowed myself to come to terms with this sin, this flaw in the beautiful creation that is me, and to start rising above it. Someone asked me recently if I've been saved, and I answered that I'd been saved for the last nineteen years of my life. Born with the sin of Eve, I was cleansed when I was baptized at a few months old. And don't get me wrong, that wasn't the last time I set foot in a church, for nineteen years, every Sunday I'd get out of bed feeling as if it were the biggest burden of my life to sit in those pews and it was a burden because I was fighting with every inch of my being to not truly see what I was. Nineteen years, every single Sunday, sometimes high and sometimes hungover, I'd nap and I'd feign illness just so I didn't have to endure the truth.

And then one Sunday I listened for a change. The priest said to simply say "I love you, I'm a sinner and I'm sorry." And I went home and I did it. I'd been going through a rough time and had an emotional breakdown a few days later. I sat in my brothers car in the parking lot of my university not being able to face anyone or move for five hours. And I cried and cried, but then I covered my eyes and I spoke to Him.

"Our Father who art in heaven,
Hallowed be Thy name,
Thy kingdom come,
Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven,
Give us this day our daily bread,
And forgive us our trespasses,
As we forgive those who trespass against us, And lead us not into temptation,
But deliver us from evil."

Over and over again, I sat there sobbing and praying, it was a plea, a plea for Him to take control of my life. I could feel the words opening wounds in my heart, wounds that had been repressed and badly stitched. I had been trying to fix my life, I had been trying to forgive myself for my sin, to salvage the strength from within myself in order to forgive those around me. But instead now I was begging for strength, for His will to take over my life. And I won't lie, I've been pretty messed up, I'm a bit of an addict and an emotional wreck, I had no where to go anymore, and the only answer that I kept having for years was getting "Out." But there in that parking lot, I found myself believing in something greater than my own ability, putting myself into the hands of a divinity much more powerful than me. And that's how I found Him.

I am no saint, I am a sinner. And that's why I'm just like you. Because none of this earthly madness has anything on His majesty and ability to take control of our lives.