She curls into the tightest ball she can muster, only to ooze apart again until she’s sprawled like a rag doll across the mattress she hasn’t left for uncountable hours, basking in her own body heat, her self made safe haven. Secure in the frame that holds the only image of her that isn’t criticized or chastised by prying eyes that search for defects and imperfections to validate their own existence as one above the rest. Her blanket curls over her mouth, cheeks and nose making it harder to breathe easy, but simple to see all the reasons why staying in bed would be beneficial to her many differentials of mind and mannerism that set her apart amid the aristocrats and artists who selfishly scorn the different and disparate. Puffing clouds of heat into her comforter, she gathers herself up again ready to release the storm brewing inside, but instead unloads into a single sigh and relishes in the relaxing aroma of lilac breeze. Embracing the warmth which she has previously shed on her sheets, she rolls into her predestined paradise and sinks into a somber scintillation of sanity.
A vacant stare falls upon her face as she gazes upon the world as if there is nothing left for her to see there. She feels nothing but a slight tremble and a heartbeat in her hands. The air that she tastes becomes stale as she realizes it will never be shared with the body she bears. Tears stream from her unflinching eyes as all her hope dies.
He wraps his familiar smell around you. You bury your blushing face, hiding the consistent compassion you know that he so desires from you. Your sanity senses the situation has long since been the same, but your heart flutters as you become flushed. You deny your desires and press on platonically persuading your previous partner to play nice. His demeanor deteriorates as your sympathy surpasses your devotion to denial. Soon you’re swindled into an unsolicited circumstance and daringly decide to give it another go.
He scratches his pen against the paper strewn in front of him. He attempts to tighten his grip, but it only loosens inciting anguish. Determined to finish he relies on muscle memory to form the words and letters spewing out of his mind, never pausing to rethink or reiterate. The burning in his chest grows as if a fire has been lit in his stomach, but he presses on writing the words he’ll never be able to speak. The swelling in his throat makes it harder to wheeze for more air. He coughs and crimson drool oozes over his slacked jaw. Tears pitter pat onto the page as his implement comes free from his hand. His vision is blurred and the pain fades slowly as he drifts into the fog of his clouded mind. He rests his head one final time, signing his note in bile and blood with his lips. It never should have ended like this.
Stuck in a triangle where what goes around doesn’t come back around. Join the square of sexual frustration and make it a pentagon of pent up affections. Turn a hugless hexagon into a horrible heptagon of heated emotion and find a friend to opt into our awkward octagon which is nearing a nonagon where we numb ourselves and disassemble this decagon of depression.
The leaves rustle and bustle above her head which gleams with sweat over the crunch of her tires crushing the dirt beneath her. The air is so thick she may as well be drinking it when she gasps for more. The climate is less than ideal for this ride, but she would give anything to be bathed in the emerald greens sparkling around her and the bronze path guiding her through the splashes of heavenly golden light. She keeps her pace, making sure that her pulse surging through her ears stays just calm enough not to drown out the ambient song of her surroundings. She is one in a million, and on her bicycle one with them all.
Confusion turns to frustration as he struggles to set his mind straight. So much joy couldn’t possibly come from something so hard to relate. It may be distance that troubles him, but there’s a long road ahead. “Stop” he says, aloud to himself, thankful that no one is around to hear what he said. but his mind treks on as it always does, like a persistent bee in your ear with its buzz. So on he goes with no end in sight, until a fork is upon him that’s as left as it’s right. Between the two he decides that he can’t make the call, so he turns around making the best decision of all.
This is the bit of my writing that i let people read. Its the works I believe that my speech and appearance may supersede. I like to be seen as who i am when I’m in person, maybe not as smooth, but charming, cute and maybe even fun. Perceive what you see here as a deep dark secret, but know that i don’t harness the slightest hint of regret. I have written a reflection of my life as it has passed, but it is just as distorted as looking through warped glass. Take with you what you need and add as you see fit, and whatever you do make sure you enjoy it.
A story never really ends, does it? A butterfly flaps its’ wings, the wind blows, a boy dies, but life goes on. The world doesn’t end because of some “happy ending”. A couple gets married, they grow old together, one dies, and the other lives a short solitary life until their own demise arrives, their family buries them. At that point their children have children who marry off and have more children who are then left to bury their parents until the earth is over populated and the government makes legal restrictions on how many kids a couple are allowed to have and abort the excess. The ecosystem deteriorates as technology presses on and while the earth is more advanced you might as well call it “older” because it’s that much closer to its own inevitable end. But even then the planets will orbit their stars until eventually getting swallowed up or plummeting into the fiery unknown until the entire universe collapses back in on itself, ready to begin again. But that isn’t really a beginning, its just a continuation using the same conserved energy and mass that has spun around itself for an eternity. so even if that butterfly flapped its’ wings, how important is it that that boy died?
I love you very much, and I know that you love me. I only wish that I could see myself as you do, but I fear that I could never love myself as any of you can. I apologize for the mess I leave behind as I know that it is mine to clean up, but I cannot and so it becomes your burden. However, you should not burden yourself with thoughts of resent or regret, you have all done your best as I have. Love yourselves as I have loved you and each other as you always have. As I have let everything that has not received my love and has deemed itself unworthy of my love go, I now must let myself go, as you should as well. Peace be with you.