Lost in Crazy..

I am still surrounded. Surrounded to still be sitting here listening to the same song, smoking the same cigarette. I have very little regrets, but you make the most of them. It is about the wide space in me I left open for you, and you very lightly left for disappointments. Nothing special about anything, except for the context and the little kindness-es you’ve sparkled over life on occasions. It tore my heart every time I had to leave and you gave me permission. “I am sorry honey; do I have a reason to not seek another?” “I just want you to be happy.” Selfish, self-centered, trapped little boy. I could’ve made you the happiest, if only you knew how to let yourself in me. I could’ve made you the realist, if only you recognized all the faults in your logic. Naive little boy. I am gone, I am so gone. But you still make me nervous, like all the hairs in my body waiting for a smile. Did you need to follow me to the end of the world to show me our love then tell ...

Hi, I haven’t written in a while, but maybe I have never stopped. I have been thinking a lot lately, about the construct of who I am as a person and all what makes me, you know, me.      Funny I know since I spent most of the past 10 years figuring that out, without a clear conclusion. Mostly a blurred-out line that started to plateau after a certain age. Was it 22? My first heartbreak, me realizing how all heartbreaks are similar and stem out of denial of what you thought would be yours? Was it 24? With me breaking every taboo I know to feel more? To love harder? To experience my existence with a greater depth? Was it 25? With me opening up my mind to see what’s really there? 26? 27? 28? 29? Getting wasted? Falling in love again and again? Kissing under the rain? Opening up my body in an attempt to detach from a physical being only to confine myself even more? Baggage. Emotional baggage. Long dark alleyways filled with dust, blood and alm...

It absolutely fascinates me, the people who would choose the most hurtful things to be said and say it to you by means of "giving advice". What psychologically sane person would take someone's biggest insecurity, expand it and project it on every air particle breathed or wasted. Grasp for air. Look for something that could be confused for love or something similar. Sheded skin, broken back, weak trying to stand a ground that's softer than cloud. And I'd be damned if I ever grew my bones in soils I did not seed myself.

We meet so many people, at times too many, and they make us feel special they make us feel complete even if for a little while. And it has always been worth it. But this boy, he makes me feel real. Like fantasy never existed between us. Like his laugh makes my smile. Like his singing so harsh to the ears but too close to my heart. This boy; trenched. Humble. Broken. But playful and joyful like a heatstroke in outer space. Make me the realest. Because I've been looking down on earth for way too long.

Years before, or years after. "Us" could've worked differently. Against a navy background. Against broken glass. Under layers of disappointments and above all else. Time passes heavily yet swiftly, it could've been us. But you're you and I, I. Tinder, forgotten rough around all edges except for the one you lay so close to. It's not even a memory, but a meaning latching on the under-surface of my brain.

There is still that room in my mind. With you at the center and a painting with all the green turned purple. Curtains down I still visit. Curtains up, it doesn't look like me anymore. The moon reflecting on my face and the sun bright right out of yours. It is you, but it isn't. And I am the person who peeled you to be. Yellow wallpaper falling off the cracks of my heart. Our history trenched underneath. Walk the line, we are not afraid anymore.

There was a time and a place where everything seemed fine because you loved me. When our voids collided into comfort. When our lips cracked into air. Cushion my heart.  Hold me tightly, but baby tear my skin. Torn is my skin; fiber to bone by the ten years passing and me still falling for the hairs on your back. Pull it apart; untether me from the shadow of your eyes ever too brightly staring into mine. But everything is hers now, and I am everyone else's.

How sinister it is for a memory to linger on skin like the very dark end of a very long tunnel, like an alcohol rub against an open wound, like my back pressed against hot asphalt. Like your hands never reaching for mine. And my heart walking out on yours. Like all my memories, bundled, hidden and trickling out the barrel of your shouting tongue. Burn me in my blood, waste it away. For every drop will grow a blossom. Evergreen, ever-reminding of what the little kids needed to feed/feel to be.

Your lips, my skin, the high and me thinking that this boy was made for us to meet. Isolated moments in time should stay there. In a place of nostalgia and maybe regret. Isolate that moment and put it in my hand. Curl it up. Forget it. Deny its existence, for personal growth requires matter and that was a void.

It is in the spaces between how far removed we feel we've become from everything that made us people, everything that made us real.      Enough time, enough disappointments and you'll become the one going beyond compromise for compromise.  What value is skin touched empty? What weight is flesh not torn apart? Life is not a path life is a metamorphosis, and how much we become at the end equates to how much we've pushed against the confinements we'll always be tangled in.  

The cigarettes I don't smoke, the face I used to know and the coolness in the heat. The pretty boy, the perfect music and my laugh. The home inside a home, Lana and my passion. The roll, the smoke, all our songs and the side of her face.

Fills us up quickly, Leaves us slowly, And puts us on a track that we spend the rest of our lives tracing. Escape the pattern.

To the point in time when distance between us seemed too foreign of a concept. When love was one, yellow and bright. When the sparks in your eyes lit fires to my brain. It wasn't the passage of time alone that got us this far removed from how parallel we stood. The loneliness, the loss, the search and the cluttered minds. I hope you put everything back in there. I hope your heart found the right chest and that your little dreams grew bigger trees. To almost forgetting what you've loved in me.

Left to wonder how many parts of you are still tainted with how you loved them once? It is okay to love, get disappointed, break your heart, grow into the being you are today in the process.  In the shames of being a little broken hearted girl I gathered myself above it and looked the other way. I let it go on for too long untapped and trenched. Thinking that rising above it means looking the other way. The truth is life is taking your heart out for others and letting them scar it to prove you've existed. It means nothing today, but it still means everything.  I can barely remember anything of what it was, but I still remember it all. And I pray for the day that my heart finds a way to believe the way I believed in you.

In the past two days I discovered that somethings are too overwhelming for our perception that it could be tooooooo damn surreal even when sober. I mean the sights we see are just too strange. Too foreign and too uneasy.That they just don't quite register. Like seeing bright light after dark. Or realizing a thought that was there all along but hidden. Or putting your cold hands in hot water. A distortion of the normal that our brains is so used to. An embodiment of theory into a real life slap to the senses.

"Like skin tastes but a bit sweeter"

Because you used those truths that only stood between the frames of that little moment and got trenched into lies a moment after. And I never liked the feeling of being lied to.

It isn't about them being gone. Or about all the death that happened between us. It is about them waking up one day and realizing that they did better.

Does it make you wonder about all your failed quests? Is it hard to prove something to yourself when you don't know what are you proving?  Are you realizing what you already know, about your shivered boneless spine? There is this overwhelming flood of excitement that climaxes to empty into nothingness. . A Nothing of no emotional memory. A Nothing with bland motion-pictures in random order. And there is this subtle aching anxiety of waiting, waiting for all the lies to transcend into honesty.   Remember the time you were given the courtesy of sincerity? Never. Because cowardice has always been a safer bed to sleep in. I'm sorry baby, I can't share it with y ou .

There is always this fine line between madness and sanity. Emotional maturity and you being dragged all over the floor. It gets harder to slip back into what you know you are after getting this far Building. . Polishing. . Nurturing. . Accepting. . With huge chucks of Denying here and there. . We've been always here searching for this great Resolution, but it doesn't seem to be knocking on our doors anytime soon. Impressed? Look again. This is supposed to be amusing, at least for someone.. or something.