You held my hand and we walked through the clouds of your mind.
You were so unaware of your sweaty palms holding my tingling fingers.
You left breath as silky as snowflakes on my burning skin.
You indulged in my eyes and I inhaled your presence.
You were so comfortably uncomfortable with your blemishes.
Today, I caught him staring.
I gripped the bus pole as the vehicle jolted and my eyes sought for his.
The blaring traffic outside was obvious
but his glare felt like a silent galaxy that I could float in.
I danced on his sweet lips and slept in his golden hair.
He orbited my brain and whispered lust all in one stare.
As he spoke, his voice echoed through my bones.
I longed for a stranger once again.
Today, I caught him staring.
Recently I have felt so vulnerable and detached.
I am so distant. I am so cold.
How can I be full of such paradoxes?
How can I hate people,
Just as much as I love them?
They scream the song in the distance. Sounds of slurred voices and birthday wishes mixed with crashing bottles and bloodshot eyes. The muffled chants resemble somewhat a pack of animals in the wild threatening their prey. In this case they are a herd of unaware tribal humans in a suburban town robbing neighbours of their peace. One must thrive while one must suffer. I pity the elderly inhabitants on my street. A thought for the lonely. A thought for the restless. However, I hope that nobody spares a thought for me as I rather enjoy the screech of the infamous London youth night life. The rough chorus of drunks begins to fade and I continue to flick through my book of Nineteenth Century Short Stories. All of a sudden; left alone in the melancholy of my own thoughts.
I was lying in the middle of the road. I was supposed to just put the rubbish out but I could not stop there. I got this rush of adrenaline. I wanted to run fast. Away from everything. At first I began to but I stopped at the end of my road. The looming street lights above me eerily craned their metal necks in my direction. The pale yellow light judged me and my feet came to a halt. I jogged my way up the winding road again eager to ensure than no one had seen me at this dark hour. I thought about books. Fictional romanticism. The beautiful peace of lying the middle of the road and closing your eyes. I followed the manual but there was nothing particularly eventful about the situation. I felt dazed. As if time was slowing around me. The cold, grainy tarmac under my shirt soon hit reality and I rose feeling as lonely as ever.
Who are you in the early hours of the morning? When stubborn reality wont let go of the hormones in your head. The weight of your eyelids are almost unnoticeable until a blink lasts longer than a second and you feel dazed in a black atmosphere. Why do we not conscientiously question our daily unconsciousness after the sun sinks. We accept without thought. Our inability to seek will poison mankind. Curiosity keeps youth. Vanity thrives in damp eras such as this. The exterior may be varnished with brown liquid the media insists is essential to “get that tan look for summer”. Underneath the chemicals lie soggy skin full of insecurity coating impressionable blood shaking through our veins. Promise me that you do not succumb to these social standards and not one inch of you mind has delved into the greener grass. You lie. You laugh. You live. All temporary behaviour but there is one common denominator. You loathe.
Why is it that we do not talk to people on public transport. Eye contact makes you swallow and dart your eyes away and hope to never look at the person again. What is it that makes two people look at each other simultaneously on a full carriage of 30+ people. Coincidence? Why do i look at people and try to estimate their lives even though i have an easy opportunity to just ask them how their day was. Are we all too tired? Are we too self-absorbed? Some of us listen to music. Some of us sleep. Some of us stare. Then if somebody falls out of line and maybe strikes up a conversation or sings a little song they are frowned upon or feared. There is no meaning to this.
He slumps in the dented seat. Glaring out the window; looking past his reflection he avoids the silver sun. I never know what he is listening to. His face is always so blank. Whether it is with loneliness or tiredness I cannot be sure. The golden-brown hair politely stays under control as it sticks to his scalp. There is usually a part of his hair that pokes up. It never bothers him. He barely changes stance. Always the hands-in-pockets, no eye-contact and dismissive type.
When you are completely isolated in a crowd
When you are drowning in a room absent of liquid
When your nose stings before the salty drips fall
When there is an unexplainable ache
When you are folding your thoughts into a neat pile
When your forehead crumples under the weight
When the itch in your soul cannot be soothed
When your fingernails shiver silently
When you can taste the despair on your tongue
I can imagine myself. Crawling up onto the brick wall at 8pm. The sky is grey and navy. Over-looking the ants below. All too concerned with their own journey when I have come to the end of mine. I can smell the wind as it ices over my nose. I hate heights but I am somehow calm. The air is weightless but murky. My feet stop tracing the edge of the wall and I turn my feet. They are parallel. My toes curl in my socks. I forget about the wind biting on my skin as the nervous sweat seeps through my pores. My heart races. A feeling I am far too familiar with. I close my eyes and try to clear my mind. Like taking down photos from your bedroom walls and being left with a room that holds no personality. I forget my family. I forget my friends. I forget my memories. They keep crawling back behind my eyes and converting themselves into tears. I hope that someone will save me. Then again, I wish to be free. There is no in-between Some do not believe in hell but I know that we are living it. Nobody really wants to die but then what are your options when you reach this stage of indulgence. A self-loathing narcissist. You thought this moment would have more meaning but it is like any other day. You just hope you do not survive the fall. With that thought you drop and eyes of by-standers watch unable to stop the inevitable.
Now maybe I am caught between two. There is no option either way. My decision is unnecessary for the future. It is merely a thought stimulated by imagination. Faults in both. Love in both. Hatred in both. All brewed out of the teabag that is my brain. The tea is not sweet nor warm but rather cold and left unattended. Many are reluctant to take a sip. Something left so cold for so long; almost iced. They assume taste would bring nothing but bitterness but only until one tries, would one know. Once someone braves the cold they will realise that the bitterness does not exist and it was simply a lie to find the one worth waiting for. As soon as the liquid hits their lips the illusion is discovered and the warmth returned. All it takes is for one as brave as he. I will wait for either or neither. Never or forever. Many possibilities are too dizzy dancing on their ethanol graves. Blurred vision and clouded judgement. Symptoms they long for because they are too afraid to experience the diminished reality of society.
There are many people I know. There are many people I have seen. Parties. Bus stops. Schools. Yet none of them will ever create that feeling that I feel for you. The crisp air that surrounds each thought to illuminate from your brain. I will never know if what I feel is pure infatuation or jealousy. I doubt myself. If it means what I assume, then I worry. I hope this doubt does not justify my thoughts. I would not mind owning your fingerprints along the skin stretched across my spine. I wish I were a poet so I could express my love disguised as metaphors crafted out of letters. Yet nothing will compare to your occasional questioning and my current need to please you. I tell you truths but conceal them with sarcasm. It seems that all I write are love stories. I am no fan of Romeo and Juliet. She will take advantage for no reason. She mouths phrases that I try to block out. Unfortunately, I can lip read and I do not like the words I comprehend. She enjoys your hands around her waist. I would crumble between them and lean back to achieve more contact between our bodies. The electricity created. I can imagine forever but I will never know. Nothing is changeable. Years will pass. The impossibility that you share my sensations. You never will. Standards I cannot rise above will always be put in place. In a year I might not even remember you name. I will be infatuated by another. When I argue about the uncomfortable experience of touching, it is not because I do not bathe in it but merely that it is not your touch. Any other hand deadens me. Yours brings life. I am a friend. No more. No less. To cope with such an occasion will never be easy. When I say “no” to your inquires it is the truth. Yet, I lie with my following explanation. I fear my eyes falling upon you with her. I fear you. I know you will be gone. Under the radar within a month. That is a shame. I am a hypocrite because, by then, if you were not gone I would complain. You would kill. I wish for this friendship to end. I try not to want your feelings for her to stop because that is a sin. I cannot help it. Whilst I wait to fall numb again, I would rather not see you. Yet, am I not the one to instil conversation? I am contradictory line in your favourite book. That is all.
She scratches the ink on the wood
Thoughts seeping out her eyes
Forced to constrict her ideas
Deafened by their sighs
The thought of education is not a looming one
Just the people that join the ride
She cannot bear their presence
Not another second by their side
She endures each second
Not even hinting at a flinch
Listen to the lies
Hoping it’s a dream; she just has to pinch
His eyes matched the colour of the sea when the sun glimmers along its frothy waves.
The water bugs danced in the fresh, salty air.
His lips sang like flamingos’ footsteps against the silky waters in the depths of the South American jungles.
Pink and delicate; soaked in velvet.