Stained tables and cigarette smoke. Red wine and cracks in the ceiling, in a house full of your nightmares. The house which is your museum of procrastination. It is not bad, it is not good. It is just somewhere in between. Like that millisecond between 11.59 and 00.00 on a New Year’s Eve. It is like being hung up in the air, unable to move yet, trying to reach the earth with your hands. ‘It’s like you’re screaming and no one can hear.’ Because no one wants to hear. Because deep inside you do not want to be heard. You crawl into your bed just so you can feel safe. Deep breath. One… Two… Three… Ten… And it is all gone. That moment you are healed. That moment you know another battle is won.
Silly words. Fleeting smile. I’m dead.
My own thoughts will destroy me. My past kept haunting me. My heart started to freeze to save me from the awful things in life.
No physical gun is needed.
My eyes flickered up and down your body. Chewing my lower lip, I was thinking about what would come next. I could hear your thoughts, I felt the confusion. I couldn’t help but crack a smile.
‘This is it’ I thought. ‘This is how it all begins. This is how it ends.’
Your fingers smelt of bleach. The smell of cleanliness, the smell of guilt. ‘Where will he hide the body afterwards?’
The clock was ticking mercilessly loud. It was 4:32 in the morning in Tokyo, 11:32 in San Francisco. Almost noon.
‘The past and the future are just an illusion’ you used to say. Your wrist watch never showed the right time.
You lit a cigarette, though you didn’t smoke, and passed it to me.
‘I can’t do it’ you said.
‘There’s no going back now.’
‘There must be another solution. There must be another way to solve this situation.’
‘Don’t be silly’ I snorted out a sound that might have been a laugh. I wasn’t in the mood for laughing.
Suddenly, the front door opened.
‘We’ve been waiting for you sweetheart’ I said stubbing out the cigarette. A blue-eyed girl entered the room. Her yellow dress was covered in hay.
‘I’ve got so much to tell you’ her chatter filled the room.
‘No need to rush, honey. No need to rush’ you said with fear in your eyes.
Words cannot be beaten.
It’s summer. Broken flowers and blankets. Sunshine, and the pages of books spreading always. Through the trees, she swirls like smoke, thin as air. Everything’s hazy. The gaze, of no tomorrows. I lay in the bath. The chill of autumn, creeping slowly in through the window. The back of my aching throat, my aching tongue. They call me bone daddy, but only when I’m not looking. Over the water, and through the mist of early mornings. You stand there, cigarette in hand. You watch as she levitates. Corn. Amber, and burnt leaves. Some kind of harbour, ripples in her city dress. Through open windows, the freeway at night. Forever neon. The nothingness of pleasure, of feeling somehow alive. She peels back her flesh. A mess of wonder, you place your world around her hips. Above the trees, and between the rim of chalk, there’s only dreams. This isn’t today. It…
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There was a time in my life I thought I didn’t need anyone else. I thought I could handle everything myself. Being single was (is?) something I valued but there are moments I need that second person in my life. At times I think I have nobody to fall back on. It became sad to think that friendship may exist only as a word in a dictionary. Just as a slogan used by somebody who thinks they can butter somebody up with it.
I sit on random benches in my town and look at people.
Who are you and where you’re going?
I am jealous of their lives even though I deny it. Even though I see theirs are not as colourful as one could think. I need a change. Something that will keep me from thinking. Something… anything.
As for now, I will keep searching.
‘Don’t treat people the way you’d like to be treated, treat them like they treat you.’
I have heard so many mean things about myself that I really began to think that maybe I am a bitch. Then I realised I don’t even care. Life is too short to care about jealous people who try to drag you down. A good friend of mine keeps telling me that it’s jealousy that make people say things out of spite. I ‘record’ every single sentence in my head and will strike back when they least expect it. Because I’m a bitch.
I’m not a religious person. I believe in karma and I’m patient. ‘What goes around…’
Let me sit here, listen to the bullshit you say about me and then I’ll be the bitch you claim I am.
I need to get back the part of my heart I left in Whitby. Otherwise, I’ll struggle to live knowing that heaven on earth actually exists and I had left it without leaving my footprint there. The eternity is not enough. If I believed in the afterlife, I’d want to spend it in the town where it rained corpses. Where the seagulls annoy you but amaze at the same time. Where no minute is meaningless if you know where to look for peace of mind.
Suddenly, I yearn to tell the world at large about my every feeling. I went to heaven but I’m back now. People underestimate the power of places, the nature. Everything leaves a mark. A scar on our souls, sometimes a wound unable to heal up. You want to go back, see that beach again. Walk these streets and feel the breeze on your face. These moments are worth living for. Looking at the sky thinking there’s only here and now.
You don’t have to feel somebody’s hand in yours to know they enjoyed sharing few hours with you. No words need to be spoken. Show me your favourite places and I’ll be privileged to spend some time with you there. There are moments when the silence speaks louder than words. When your heart starts to beat a bit faster because it knows that a perfect history is being created.
It’s all in the past now, but I’m sure that somewhere in the future as well. I’ll be one of those people counting the steps… over and over again.