72

So... here's the deal.
I write insignificant and relatively vague things, and then post them on the internet, just to watch the little green line of infrequent views rise and fall.
I write and post these vague little stories and quips because I need to tell something.
I write because in a world of anonymity, there is liberation.
So this, these writings and unseen posts, are my mental liberation.
Today, Today I...
I.
I'm this kid. Right?
I sleep too late and wake late.
I like to write.
I seem to be constantly aware of the fact that what I write now? I will scoff at later.
I will degrade it, I will render it futile, emotional, impractical, but above all; ugly.
I am so terrified by the emotional crippling I have been brought up to expect, that to feel emotion, to write it, to actually acknowledge it in the most cliche of fashions... I find it ugly.
I find myself ugly, in that respect.
So, I'm young, I'm afraid of emotion, and sometimes wander into an almost autistic state of mind.
I have degraded and taken apart every aspect of the delicate things, and turned them into science.
I have taken love, for example, and reduced it to nothing, absolutely nothing but chemicals and evolution.
So, when I find myself lying in silence listening to someone breathing in their sleep, and being unable to let go of the smile that lines my face, I am a pawn of my own degradations.
My scientific opinions catch me in the night time.
Sometimes, they catch me when my head is burrowed into his shoulder, and I only press my head in further.
I sit here, and, may I tell you?
Every day the degradations of my cynicism and past hurts degrade the imperfection and, in honesty, purity of what it is I am so fortunate to be, this very second, experiencing.
But it is not because I don't see it's value.
It is because I can't believe it could exist.
It is because I can't believe any living thing could care this much, regardless of whether you're beautiful or ugly.
It is because I feel that what is so so good, must be chemicals and nothing more.
But, I cannot deny what it is I feel.
I cannot deny there is no other person I wish to hold.
I cannot deny, it is his eyes, and not another's, that keeps me still.
I cannot deny the reality of this.
For I have done that, and it does not fit.
My head cannot deny the tangibility of their touch, their skin, their voice, and the effect it has upon my pulse.
But most of all, I cannot deny the tangibility of louder heartbeats.
And it is things like that, that draw out my cold scientific protection, and render the sweet things to jokes.
But.
I cannot deny, as much as my distaste holds me from saying the cliche of all; How I feel.
It is a marvel, is it not?
You're brain conjures one emotion, your heart physically feels it.
I didn't think that was real.
I thought the words, "Heavy heart," were just easy lyrics and poetic nothings.
But no.
Within my chest, hidden behind a cage of white bone and blood, lies an anchor, that sinks further and further every day.
Sometimes within elongated kisses and lingering breaths, that very heart feels as if it is drowning, without lungs to take in air.
How very odd, is it not?
An organ that needs not breathe, feeling as if it could drown, living inside a once cold and icy being.
And so, I sit here, and I type, unsure as to the unease resting under my skin, seeping into the anchor tied securely to my heart.
For the past two days, an unexplainable sadness gripping me in the silent moments now bringing me to this; a meager attempt at finding answers within an answer itself.
I cannot explain it, nor can I find it's answer or cause, however, the further I write, the closer I feel to the root of my unease.
Funny, is it not? Within an attempt to alleviate sadness, a heavy anchored heart was drawn into the equation, despite my own personal claims that it had nothing to do with this seemingly unexplainable state of self.
Even funnier that only one face was brought to mind as each word was set down.
I fear my heart has realized something before my mind could even comprehend it's existence, or even possibility to exist.
And so as the realization dawns, it only descends further, drowning ever more within itself, and another's.
And within another's.
Ah, I have said it myself.
The anchor falls further into an ocean, for fear only that it will reach the ground all too soon, and become lost among the sand, never to have called out the echo of it's thud upon the ocean's floor.
But I fear telling him I love him only to be met with an expression of remorse.

69

I will never tell you that sometimes I know...
I think...
I will never tell you that when you speak about her, just sometimes, it makes my day a little bit sadder.
But I'll still be there when you need to talk.
I'll still listen because I know you don't understand it in the same way.
I will never tell you how sick it made me feel when I saw her name in your calls list, her name above and below mine as you scrolled through your inbox.
I will never tell you because... Because it's nothing.
Because it's just...
Because you're so good.
And... And because I understand.
Because I know it's just me feeling sad because... Because I remember how you spoke of her before.
How her absence tore you apart.
How much she meant to you.
How much she still, and always will mean to you.
It just makes me sad because I sometimes think I could lose you in a heartbeat.
And... That sometimes I'm just... There'll never be anyone like her for you.
And the sad thing I find is that, I often think there'll never anyone for me like you.
But I'll never tell you that, Because that's the way it goes.
Because that's the way it is.
I'll never tell you, because you're good, you're you, and... the past is the past.
The heart is the heart.
And they say it never dies.
They say you never truly get over someone.

64

Marks of black, strokes of grey, lying softly upon drooping lids.
With one stark flash of blue; it was all over.
There was no draw, no second place, no survivor.
Everything had already been said and done, in the silence of her glare.

63

With lips of the slightest red tinge; She smiled.

62

Smothering won't protect me, now will it?
You're forgetting a world exists after this.
You're forgetting you'll be able to do nothing.
Bit late to start cocooning me.
Bit fucking late.
And... it is the things that were presented before my eyes in stark truth that I learned from.
Smothering me now will only teach me to cross the road without looking, thinking someone's gonna pull my hand back if I'm in trouble.
No one is gonna pull in reality.
No one.
So, rather than pulling my strings, be there for when they are cut, and I am lost.

61

Guide me in my choices, don't make them for me.
You say I'm to look after myself, and yet you won't let me decide for myself?
"Am I not being fair?"
You're never asking that question looking for an answer you'll listen to.
You're never really asking.
You're just reminding yourself and I who's boss.
You're preparing to tear down any answer contradictory to your own.
You hear.
You don't listen.
You really don't.

60

6 days ago feels like a year ago.

55

"What do you mean? What's worse than that?"
"..."
"That's good, isn't it?"
"..."
"You really are terrified of it, aren't you."

51

She thought she was going to be sick.
She could do nothing but stand there, staring back into her own eyes.
She felt so sick.
She traced her hand across her skin, pulling her fingers under her jaw, reaching up for her lips as they quivered so slightly.
Her knees, her legs, her arms, they felt so heavy.
Her chest felt as her ribs had finally been torn apart, and her heart lay bare and vulnerable.
It thudded, so loudly.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Louder, and louder.
It pounded through her chest, her throat... she could feel it's loud pulse traverse across her skin.
Her eyes had become glassy, that sparkle of blue worn away to a blank expressionless stare.
She had never felt so human in her life, and it made her sick.
It made her feel so incredibly raw and vulnerable, it made her feel so unstable, so malleable, so...
So dependent.
Words began to feel difficult to say, to even utter.
Words of which she had promised never to feel, never even to contemplate.
Words she had sworn; were labels for things that never even existed.
But she stood there, faced towards the mirror, her eyes frozen into a glassy stare, with the words,
"Oh fuck." running through her head, over and over and over.
She couldn't help the memories that were forcing themselves into her mind, she couldn't help the way her hands shook as she struggled to deny the truth.
She couldn't help her dreams.
Those little vulnerable things, that refused to hide.
"And so, a tragedy occurs." he had conceded, so sweetly, so sadly.
And even in her dreams, she could feel her heart break.
She had never felt such raw emotional pain before, never to such extremities, and all from the words her dreams had conjured forth.
Her dreams had forced her to realize a terrifying truth, of which she knew, even now, she would persist to deny as long as her heart would allow.
She would deny the fact, that made her so sick, and so scared, that she had fallen.
She had fallen.
And in doing that, she knew she would never utter the words, the word, as long as her dreams kept at bay.
As long as her lips remained sealed, and his heart kept safe.

50

Skin is memories.
Skin is ten years old, lying in the grass.
Skin is fragile.
Skin is just tangible hauntings.
Skin is memories.
And when you touch my skin, I know;
I will remember this.

44

Loathing, with such burning seething passion for something so fragile.
I often think fear and anger are the same thing, just with different extremities.
Passive.
Now that, that very word, that very mentality... It should be loathed, it should be feared.
Passive is a disease.
Passive is what renders all to nothing.
Passive does more than rot- Passive removes existence.
But... what if you are a passive creature at heart?
When then?
Are you destined to hear your thoughts degrade each thing to nothing?
Perhaps then it is just to be found within yourself, whether or not you give a fuck enough to fight for something.
"Live for something, or you'll die for nothing."
What then, if it doesn't matter to you whether you die for nothing?
Perhaps that's just the tragedy to all but you.
Meaning. Reason.
You never call for either.

42

Why did you look as if you were about to cry.
Why did the way you spoke send my heart into my mouth.
What have I done to you.
"I heard this great one liner..."
"Oh really?"
"Yeah... There's this guy, and he really liked this girl, but she wouldn't go out with him..."
"Oh..."
"But she knew he liked her."
"Uh huh..."
"But anyways, apparently she did something really nice for him."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah... But I dunno what, but anyways, he said about it afterwards,
'Thank you, you'll be in my dreams tonight', and she just goes, 'But I'll only end up giving you nightmares.'
And he said, 'Who says I'm gonna be asleep?'"
"Wait... If it's a dream but he's not asleep..."
"It's a fantasy."
"Oh."
"Goodnight."

Never have I met a man so raw as you.
Never have I been in the presence of a man so young and yet wise.
I could see the burden upon your shoulders.
You were unhappy, and even now, you still are.
Your presence... It is...
You're...
Words fail me.
You are in one breathe indecipherable, and in the other, I understand you more than I think you know.
Although... Once you let me in. Almost.
Perhaps you saw more of my understanding than I had thought.
You are not accustomed to love.
And yet, you handle it with more open arms than I had the desire to.
I crushed it, you sought after it.
Perhaps that is why your eyes brimmed at the edges.
Perhaps that is what I should have seen.
With so many similarities, I failed to remember the most fragile of difference between you and I.
Perhaps I would not be writing about you now, had I remembered them.
You thought I would do more than understand, didn't you?
You thought...
I'm sorry.
You are strong for everyone.
Is there no one to be strong for you?
I hate to see you in pain, but even more, I hate to have that sickening feeling, knowing that I am the cause of a piece of it.
I could not mend your heart, for you would only alight the parts of mine that had grown to destroy these fragile things.
You would have been my vulnerable downfall.
I only feel remorse that I could not be there for you, that my mind no longer had the strength to return to the life I once was so accustomed to.
I am only sorry you and I did not know each other when younger.
Perhaps our burdens would have seemed lighter.
Perhaps I could have mended you, rather than unintentionally add to an already suffering self.
I wish someone who could help you, would see how you really are.
I wish someone actually gave enough of a fuck to see that you're not doing OK, you're not happy, and things are not fine.
I'll try to do what I can, but I know I am not who you want to talk to.
Once perhaps, but then I became a part of the problem.
Then I just got too close.

41

You know what?
You mean something to ME.
And yeah I know, things are hard, and right now, you can't see any other way out.
But look at me.
Look at just how uncontrollable I get when I think of you not being here anymore.
Look at how furious, how afraid I become when I think of you not breathing, when I think you not being there to text at night, to hug in the day, to smile at silently when your voice rises.
Life is hard.
Life is cruel, and you know what?
With each beautiful pulse you feel, life fucks you up.
Life takes every scrap of your innocence, and crushes it, it renders your body, and your soul, and your heart to a  memory of what it once was.
But you can't let it forever.
You've gotta see, that while this life is cruel, and while this life is dark, in it every single day, there is beauty.
And yeah, I know, right now, you don't wanna see that.
Heck, right now, you can't.
Right now all you can feel is your broken heart, your young soul, and your heavy shoulders.
Right now all you feel is the blood gushing through your veins, and the thoughts traversing past your eyes.
And know what?
I'm not gonna say it's selfish, Because... Because I've been there.
I've been there.
I've lied on my stomach, on my bed, going through the easiest ways to do it.
I know that, when we beg for you to hear us, all you can feel is hollow words.
Nothing is real, nothing is perceived as warmth.
Life is cold. Life is numb. Life... life is better off without you.
But listen to me.
That?
That is your shattered soul speaking.
That is the deepest moment of isolated darkness, that you can let crush you, or you can move past.
In this life, in this beautiful fucked up life; nothing lasts forever.
Nothing hurts forever, and the past never returns.
But, You do this?
You do this?
You will never get the chance to see that.
You will have chosen a dark forever.
You will have broken my heart, and so many others, and me telling you that I love you, will do nothing.
I love you.
Don't do this.
Don't break my heart.
This life... It is cruel, and I know you don't know how to be with it yet.
I know you're not there yet.
But please, listen to me.
Cruelty is not all there is.
Sometimes the most beautiful things in life, are just the mere fact it exists.
Just the mere fact that my pulse races every time I hear a certain song, that my skin goes cold for just a few seconds when I feel vulnerable, that I can never help but smile when I feel the sun on my hands, and I think,
"This may not have been."
The fact that 3 years ago, I almost ended everything.
I almost gave up what it was to feel my skin pressed against a keyboard, my warm breath passing through my lips, my legs crossed across each other, gently swaying to music.
I almost gave this up.
I thought there was nothing.
And this is what you're contemplating.
You're not just ending your misery.
You're ending what it is to be human.
What it is to feel and to see and to smell and to taste and to touch.
You are giving up the most unappreciated delicate moments in which you realize,
"This is what it means to be alive."
You are giving up what it is for you to exist, this very second.
You're giving up the sounds you hear, the things that make you smile when nothing else can, the memories that  haunt you so silently but sweetly, the feel of the sun upon your face, and water upon your neck, the taste of coffee on a cold morning, the eyes of a beautiful stranger as you walk by, the smile after a kiss.
You're giving up the feel of cold tiles in the morning, the promise of dreams, the escape of films, the beauty of art, the liberation of running.
Just... running.
With the wind wrapping itself so tightly across your neck, with the rain pelting down upon your spine, and your feet just slamming, one after another on cold damp ground.
You're not only deeming it all dark, but you're giving up everything that is so delicately, so indescribably, so imperfectly; beautiful.
You are letting the darkness take you.
You are saying goodbye to the future.
You are saying goodbye to me.
Please.
You have no idea just how much you mean to so many people.
Don't do this.

40

You're a beautiful girl.
Beautiful.
Beautiful.
Beautiful.
And... Right now, sitting in this cluttered room, music drolling out across it's walls, I want nothing more but to write for you.
I... I don't even know you that well, but there's a silence between us.
Every now and then, a silence in which I feel like I understand you, and you me.
I wish I knew you well enough, so I could actually... be there for you, rather than making do with a kinder smile, or a louder hello.
Right now... Right now I wish I could be there to understand for you, to just... "be" for you.
But, I'm rendered to a letter you'll never see in obscure web space, that I will never send, and that will never benefit you.
I want you to be happy, so much.
But I know happiness doesn't come with choice, not deep down.
I know you need time, I know you need to grieve, and...
I hope you're given the chance to do that.
You're a beautiful girl, far too young for those empty smiles and lowered eye lids.
And I...
I want you to smile enough, that it deepens the lines by your eyes, and the sun bounces off them, like sparks bursting from flames.

39

You know something?
I adore the way your stare lingers, just that second longer.
Heck, It's longer than a second.
You unashamedly do it. You grin as you do it, your smile growing broader as I cringe, blush and avert my gaze.
Or when I can't stop myself from sleeping.
When my eyes shut, under the warm sun, and you quietly lean closer, kiss my lips, my forehead, my cheek, and lie next to me, as I silently smile, and reach for your hand.
I adore that.
And I adore the fact that you use that word, "Adore."
I adore a lot of things actually.
I like how loud we can laugh. I like how sometimes I lose my breath from laughter, and when I open my eyes, you're keeled over, one hand pressed against your mouth, your eyes squinting happily.
I like how fucking crazy we are.
We are. Fucking. Crazy.
And... I like that.
I like how we've given up on fear, and when we wake up, you simply say,
"Good Morning."
And I just smile.
I like how you admit it makes you happy when I kiss you on the cheek.
I like that fact, that, upon you telling me that, I reached for your face to kiss you on the cheek, to feel your smile draw across it as my lips pulled away.
I like that I wasn't afraid to do it.
I like the fact you're sappy.
Yeah, I really do.
And... I like how surprised you and I are, that I don't scoff at every moment of intimacy, that I would have shied away from before.
Perhaps it's because you make me feel safe. Perhaps it's simply that I trust you.
Perhaps it's just because you're you, and... That's a pretty good reason.
I... Like the fact I write on obscure blogs about you, and... That... My notebook, and my blog, and my writings... You consume them.
Just that little bit.
It seems difficult to be inspired by other things.
You're just that little bit more inspiring.
And so, "You", that little word, litters most of what I write.
It litters... It litters creativity.
What I like most though?
The very most?
How I can sit here, legs crossed, catching my reflection in the window, music softly playing, hands pressed against the keyboard... and... I feel so whole.
Things may not be perfect, and my head may not be fine, But... I feel whole.
I feel strong, and good... and... Happy.
So very happy.
And I like very much, that you're to blame.
I blame you, and thank you, for being so very you.
And, I adore you for that.

36

Why do we shroud ourselves in anonymity?
Because we wish for no one in real life, to see the things we hide in the darkest corners of our minds.
The things we wish never to utter, however need so badly to drawl upon some hollow place.

This.

This little spec in an ocean of like minded anonymous raw individuals, alike every other, and personal to each.
This; is the ultimate safety, found in words written alone.

Hello there, stranger.
And welcome to my mind.
Utter my name, and it becomes barred from your eyes, never know my face, and my deepest thoughts are yours.

35

Thud. Thud. Thud.
As each day goes by, you've made my heart race just a beat quicker, and each time your skin touches mine, I swear it stops, for just one second.
You terrify me.
Fucking hell, I'm petrified of you, and yet, I continue to grow closer to you, my defenses for once obsolete and futile.
I am defenseless.
I am fucking defenseless.
And, the funny thing is; I know.
I know that this, this fragile imperfect vulnerability, this trust, this uncontrollable indecipherable magnetism, is just what I've been protecting myself from, all this time.
I know that.
I know I've succeeded in the past.
I've succeeded to such extents, that I've earned the title of "Emotionally Dead Inside," "The Ice Queen."
I can hear the words, I've heard the words:
"Her... Her? Ah. Yes. Her. One day, you'll meet a wall, a wall of which you'll never get past."
"...Never."
"Never ever."
And yet... you did it.
I know you have.
You got past that wall.
Fucking hell, By now you've broken through so many, I've come to a point in which I willingly give you the key, knowing I've surrendered.
Knowing I've surrendered to the magnetism, to the chemistry, to the pure indecipherable desire to just... be next to you.
To just... tell you things.
To just... be vulnerable with you.
And not only that, but that pure unadulterated bliss of knowing, that you do the same.
That you're terrified. That you freak out. That you, just like me, are battling with defenses.
I like knowing that.
And I like how we both just squeeze the others hand, that little bit more, when we know the other begins to grow scared.

You scare me. And I scare you. In fact, you and I?
We petrify each other, push each other to panic attacks, and crumbling defenses, shaking hands and underlying insecurities, and yet, in the end, it's each other we turn to, to dispel that fear.

For that... For that... I just.. Plain and simply... Submit.
I submit.
Terrify me. Petrify me.
I still submit.
Simply because you make me so very happy.

And you're very, very, wonderfully so, you.

15

Today, will not be remembered.
Today can be yours to imagine.
Today can be the day in which you piece all the memories of your teen-hood into a few hours, and believe that is what happened.
Believe that it happened with such electricity as your mind wishes to portray, believe the memories your mind wishes to paint and exacerbate.