2018

183.

Am I quietly regretting how late we were to meet? Drawn to your obscure personality and deep reflections, beneath the cool surface there is infinitely more.

How astonishing it is to discover similarities thought impossible. For the longest of times, loneliness is common for the one different, the grey in a brilliant landscape of colour. To find you along the spectrum is an undeniable delight.

This eagerness, while consciously subdued, may very well be foolishness. It bleeds into my dreams and cause doltish questions to rise.

How much do I care, that imaginings of the night would become apparent memories of things never were.

At this point of writing, this I dare ask: will we lean closer, or is this how we’ll continue to be?

(Either way? Knowing that you exist has charmed me.)

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180.

My voice, it is one

Reflected by the walls, or quietly

Refracted into vacuum where a speck is found not.

 

My eyes, they are

Feeling with tears not mine to use, but there they are

Filling into never-ending cracks.

 

My hands, the desperate two

Holding to another’s, the sleeve tearing at its seams and learning that

Held too tight will a balloon find itself torn open.

 

My heart, it thinks that it

Lays in the warm of the greenhouse, when it is foolishly

Lied to in a coffin of frozen glass.

179.

How quickly do I forget that the beauty of space is its menace itself: the void and all the emptiness lurking within. If we were planets I’m no longer sure if we orbit the same line.

I miss you, this I wish to say in a heartbeat, in the reach of a hand hesitant, but I don’t know where to stand in this room where silence is the loudest noise. Overcome by sorrows not mine to hold for it keeps close like a shadow.

Now — will the same gravity that drew us together, draw us apart?

178.

I am irrefutably shy, in spite of possible bold first impressions and sporadic confessions of honesty, unwavering words and pinpoint clarity.

In a room filled with people gravitating in spaces not mine alone, it takes all of me to hold still and breathe. I am unable to understand how can one just co-exist in situations unplanned, in places new. Anchors I look for, to steady the tumultuous waves of my anxious heartbeat.

You are safe now, are the words whispered, is the hand that holds mine, are the eyes glancing quietly, is the folded origami crane before me.

And though I fear the impending darkness, I know that these things will keep me secure for a little longer.

176.

This is how you and I will go. Making a mistake, and living the days regretting such choices. I am a useless princess, a girl only able to watch the kingdom suffer. Why must I always be weak for glittering things? Stupid fool (not even your charming smile will save you now).

Humpty Dumpty, the sinister shell of a man sitting on the high wall. I’ve brought your lost sword, so why won’t you let my people go? You’ve cracked their minds and hearts, a mental affliction to madden my soul.

Once upon a time, this land is a place free from all harm. Even now, however, we both know that all the kings’ men and horses couldn’t put you together again. You, son of the depraved, first to destroy your mind and now with brute strength, have you broken others. My hands cannot keep my people’s minds from shattering.

How dare you come, how dare you say that you are only trying to make me understand. If being a monster is what it takes, I will turn away from your eyes (though they shine a bewitching green…).

I don’t believe that you’re innocent just because you’ve got a screw loose in your head.

175.

Not all secrets have to be filled with the weight of a drowned corpse, guilt hanging on the leg one cannot shake loose. I am accustomed to keeping sad things secret, but more so for the happy things too.

There’s something about preciousness that cannot be shared with others, lest beauty and wonder is lost. Don’t gain partial ownership or the ability to change it up, let it stay an unbroken memory for the cold days ahead. I am no fool, to leave a gem on the beach for the enchanting ocean to steal.

Call me selfish, and I will perhaps find no heart to deny — for sometimes we hold on so tightly until the insides of our palms make crescent cries. Take a look at what is photographed in quiet, the boundless whispers stalking across the mind. The things to immortalise.

I don’t know about you (if you exist), but for me? With numbers need not be told, I have stood in a place watching, hoping to remember for always.