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THE NEW COLOR.

imageLetting go. Letting go. Letting go.
Letting go.

Fashioned with the essence of her feelings, a new color she had made. Dipping the tip of the brush that was her self-respect, she had made him portraits of her heart. They showed the deepest darkness that resided in the crevices of the blood pumping, overhyped version of the organ.

Dripping the thick red drops of her life blood, she had made paintings that were now the ashes accumulating around the fire she had started with gasoline laced with hatred he oozed and poison he hurled at her. The beauty that she had brought to life with the heart blood that with every pump screamed of her adoration for him was nothing more than ashes of her heart now.

Staring at the flames dancing, as if rejoicing in her slow demise, her need to get back up and paint the world an opaque so dark that nobody would see anything but her brave, young heart, roared. She wasn’t a lowly shell of a being who would let go of the beauty that was her just because she knew how this world works now. She was a fire that wouldn’t die just as easily.

And, so to keep it going, she threw the past as wood, sprinkled with the very color she had fashioned with the essence of her feelings. The roaring amber was a sight to behold. With hair flying in the wind of courage and eyes sparkling with the gold of the fire, she became a new person. She became a person she could be proud of. She became a person who created entire galaxies of memories to fill up the deep, dark pit where her heart once beat, echoing his name. Now, it echoed her own.

-a-

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Emotions

On the Way to Healing.

imageBefore we heal, we must suffer. It’s the natural order. Before we heal, we must suffer. It’s the natural order. Before we heal, we must suffer. It’s the natural order.
Before we heal, we must suffer. It's the natural order.

They say the passage of time will heal all wounds. But the greater the loss, the deeper the cut, and, the more difficult the process to become whole again. The pain may fade but scars serve as a reminder of our suffering. And, the bearer all the more resolved never to be wounded again. We suffer when we don’t want to accept some beloved’s hand in the pain, and we suffer when we don’t want to let go. So, as time moves along, we get lost in the distractions, act out in frustration, react with aggression, give in to anger. And, all the while, we plot and plan as we wait to grow stronger. And, before we know it, the time passes. We are healed, ready to begin anew.

-a-

Poetry

She wanted.

imageWanted.Wanted.Wanted.
Wanted.

She sat still on the windowsill
Looking down at the street below.
The mother of 4 juggling the groceries,
The mad man singing about getting killed on Friday,
The vagabond trying to sell rattraps to whoever would look him in the eye,
The giggling girls talking about boys they’ve loved before.
She sat there, staring, and speculating.
She was there. And, yet not.
She was thinking about the time gone by.
She was thinking about the days wasted.
She was thinking about the past that flew by her, unnoticed.
She wanted to live again, and not just exist.
She wanted to take it all in, and not just breathe.
She wanted her life back.
She wanted to live.
She wanted.

-a-

Philosophical Me!

Truth or lies?

imageAnd that chapter is the one everybody is dying to read,don’t ya think?
And that chapter is the one everybody is dying to read,don't ya think?

Truth and lies.

I won’t moralise about what I’ve learned but I can tell you this: in my experience, telling the truth can land you in just as much shit—err, crap, as lying. More sometimes. Sure, a lie can trap you; it can crush you immediately or slowly weigh you down until you suffocate. But telling the truth won’t necessarily set you free; it can cost you everything you love the most. And it can force you to face yourself, as painful as that may be.

So, Truth or Lies?

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Beautiful Liar.

Source: Pinterest

SECRETS are lies in their own right. One can’t keep a secret without a lie. And we revere someone who can keep a secret, yet scorn those who lie. It is the same. They all meld together. We want confidantes to surround us, trustworthy and loyal. But we scream bloody murder when we find someone has been keeping secrets from us. We forget to remember the fact that they could be someone’s confidante themselves. Or maybe it’s not their secret to tell. And, maybe not ours to know either. Secrets we have with our cronies are revered. They make our bond grow stronger. Secrets they have with someone else, us being not on the in, ruin relationships of years past. We love, we fight, we cry over those secrets. But we can’t live without them. They rule us and all our actions. They control us in ways we would destroy lives to get away from the pressure of revealing them than succumb. But we won’t let go. Every now and then, the slate is clean and we have the opportunity to move forward without any of it weighing us down. But another day dawns and ding! We are back to square one, surrounded by beautiful lies and lovely secrets, ever strengthening the stench of desperation to be the one holding all the cards where the bets are high and the game has just begun.

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Life, with Love.

Source: Pinterest

They say fate smiles upon us and floods our lives with happiness when we have had our share of hurt. It takes time and patience. Lots of it. But it happens. And, we live our life believing the wise words of the, well, wise. We learn to rationalise all the messed up shit that went down because there must be a reason. Sometimes we question it, sometimes we don’t. And, we start to believe that after all is said and done, we will come out on top and have a wonderful, wonderful life. But we know what happens to the plans and expectations. They disappoint us more than they don’t. And, we are back to questioning everything that has happened. We lose the faith and we start the downward spiral to the burgeoning pit of hopelessness. We become a shell of ourselves, only sadder and depressed. That’s where love comes in. It finds us drowning in the deep end and throws the float. We hold on for our lives and it sails us through. And, when we get out of the pit, we leave behind the slabs of hopelessness tied to our feet that had been pulling us in, and throw our arms wide, welcoming a life full of excitement and opportunities. And, of course, love. Always, love.

Emotions

Only ever you.

Source: Pinterest

It took me months to let you go.

After the last love poem you ever wrote for me, I tried to find the same ethereal beauty in writings of others. They were beautiful. But they weren’t yours. Nobody could write poems like you do. Only ever you.

After the last fight we had, you called me names, I whined and whined, I tried to find the words that would call me silly and still tell me they love me for who I am. No words were the perfect balance of “You are stupid” and “You have a beautiful smile”. Only ever you.

After the final good byes, filled with remorse and tears spilling all over, I tried to find the same hey, beautiful in every greeting, in every hello. None of the words seemed sincere enough. None of them yours. Only ever you.

After the last text you ever sent, I tried to find your mark on everything. I stalked you on your social media accounts, I stalked the kind of music you listen to, I stalked all the words you ever said. It wasn’t you. Only a memory of you. Only ever you.

After the last time I typed your name in the search box and had my fill of your name all over the cursed screen, I thought of texting you once again. Maybe we could make do. Maybe we could work out. I had been too adamant in my refusal to accept you. You had been too insistent our time is now. Maybe you were right. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I should have listened to you. Only ever you.

After thinking of you for months and months, I suddenly realised I had no more tears left to cry, I had no understanding of poetic words anymore, I found no joy in lovely hellos these days, you haven’t posted on any of your pages in months now, and I knew I was right afterall. This was my wake up call. You had been special, and I had loved you for who I thought you were. Only ever you.

But you weren’t a match for what my mind had conjured over time. Not in the least. You were a figment of my imagination. And, like everything imaginary, it hurt to let you go. You were mine. And, you were beautiful. But you weren’t real.

Those poems were oversent, those hellos overused, those compliments generic, the memories of you meddled with by my need to hold on to the perfection of you a little while longer, and your exclamations of us belonging together as untrue as they come.

It became easier to take a deep breath and it became easier to let you go.

We weren’t meant to be afterall.