I’m sacred that I’ll convince myself once more that I am wholeheartedly over you. I’m afraid I’ll fall into that abyss of denial and will never find my way back to you. I’m quick to guard my heart, which means if you tell me I’m single, I’ll prove it to you. I’ll share the most meaningless exchanges and inject as much meaning as I can for the other person. I’ll gain their affections, hoping their piqued interest will someway invigorate my attraction to them. Currently I’m playing this little game, I already have my first play in motion, and I’m afraid it is working all too easily. You see I’ve never really had trouble in this game, I just chose to never play it, cause it didn’t suit my style. Instead I played the waiting game. I’d observe the players that walked by, and if any looked particularly unique, then I’d prepare to play. They’d take note, and the games would begin. The only reason I ever participated is because when I waited, I had the opportunity to play an entirely different game altogether. I found that when you play with the best, you always have the most fun. I miss playing with the professionals, the rookies aren’t just cutting it. They don’t know how to make my heart skip a beat, or give me those nervous butterflies. Though maybe it is due to the fact that my heart’s just not in the game anymore. My body is, but even it wants to retract and discontinue what I’ve started. I have many options, but you’re the only one I love.
Today has been an interesting day for me. There haven’t been many ground breaking interactions or events, it is just that a lot has raced through my mind today. Today I feel antsy and energized, one may even call it restless. It isn’t a different feeling for me necessarily, but it is heightened because I made the poor choice of drinking half of an energy drink this evening. One could say I am quite hyped…. I am actually kind of sad too. I am in an odd reflective, energetic mood, so a lot of random thoughts will be voiced throughout this post.
The first thing I would like to start off with is that today I was thinking about my funeral. No, I am not dead yet, nor am I planning it in anticipation, nor am I writing this from the dead. A vision popped into my mind though about how I would like my funeral to be. I want my favorite musician’s (The Weeknd) music to be played throughout the funeral. EVERY SONG HE HAS EVER SUNG. So however long that takes, would be the duration of my funeral. It is not because I want to torment my family and friends with music that I already play constantly, it is simply based on the fact that there is something about his music that feeds my soul. My body reacts to it in such a different way than it does towards other music. It isn’t necessarily the lyrics, but sometimes it is. However, the song I would have played at the end of my funeral would be about just that: the lyrics. It is titled “Angel,” and is by far one of his saddest songs (in my opinion). In this song, he sings the verse “I hope you find somebody to love” many times, and every other utterance eats away at my heart. It is because he doesn’t say that to mean exactly that, he sings it in a mournful way towards what he and the girl he is singing about once shared. This song would be played at the end with the sole purpose of speaking to the guy I love one last time. I want the overall event to be joyous and cathartic, but I definitely feel that every funeral has a sad note to it, and depressingly enough, I would like for mine to end on a sad, reflective note.
Throughout my funeral, while the songs play, I want people to dance, talk, and interact without a care in the world, not worrying about how others are perceiving them for their poor dancing skills. I want my guests to be weird, eccentric, and most importantly, fully immersed in all senses. If someone cries, I want them to not feel any need to hold it in, or be quiet, I don’t want them or anyone else to feel awkward about it. I want it to be a mess of emotions, a fully raw experience, whether they be sad about my death or not. I want it to be an opportunity for them to look at life differently. It wouldn’t necessarily matter that I’m gone, I don’t even care if they shed one tear for me, but I do have one condition. I want people to begin living life differently. No, not change themselves. Live and love like you’re taking your last breath. Dance like everybody is watching and don’t give a rip. Lastly, stop feeling self conscious with new people or any people for that matter. We all are human, we get quiet, stumble on our words, and make fools out of ourselves. So stop letting silly things like self-consciousness get in the way of you living your life. One more thing, stop thinking so hard about being “normal.” Be you and do you, that’s all I ask.
To end this, I would like to bring up one last thing. I am frustrated at the world around me, which is partly why I wrote this post. Right now I feel the urge to contact each and every person I feel like contacting and say exactly what is on my mind (not necessarily the same thing to every person, cause I have different topics flowing through my mind currently) without having to think about what was last said and feel as though I need to “stay on topic” whatever that means… (it means humans are notoriously boring in conversation due to this obsession). I want to know that other people share the sentiment that life is precious and we should start living like every moment is our last. Everything around me is so stagnant, and people are so hesitant, all in efforts to not step on anyone’s toes. Yet there comes a time when you just need to LIVE YOUR FREAKING LIFE. That is all. Goodnight.
The gun has a mind of its own these days. It urges the question “why not shoot? what are we waiting for?” Because it does not know the specifics of the situation, it only knows that it is loaded and ready. I attempt to silence that recurring discussion because it is missing parts of the story, but truly, what is it missing on its end… It knows its purpose, it sees that the figure’s demise should have been long ago, so why don’t I shoot? Why don’t I end the life of that looming figure for good, why do I continue to let it ruminate in silence, not giving an answer for its presence. It is because the result of shooting the figure and choosing to use the gun’s power is not worth it. The figure provides pain, but it also provides bliss, comfort, satisfaction. It sits in those shadows of my life, drawing me back to the darkness. Though that is also where I feel my most alive, when I am with it. When I take the pleasure with the pain. When I have the markings of my mistakes into the next week to remind me of what I’ve done.
If the gun knew those feelings about the figure, it would question why I ever picked it up in the first place. Why I place it down ever so often, only to oblige the urge to pick it up the very next day with the promise to shoot, only to set it down for the night once again. I know I confuse the gun terribly, but it has never been my intention to shoot, no matter how much I humor the desire, it will never happen. For even though I hate that figure with a passion and cringe at the soul numbing thoughts it brings about, I will never give up on it, though I will never admit that to its face. So I will pick up that gun every so often and wave it in its face, but it should not worry about its life, because it will never cease to exist. If I murdered the figure a part of me would die along with it, and that is simply something I cannot face.
Day by day, the gun becomes more appealing. Lately I’ve been ready to shoot. I’ve picked it up very infrequently up until now. Though recently, my hand has had it gently grasped, ready to pull that trigger and kill that figure once and for all. I still don’t want to, but the figure keeps getting closer, making threats, stabbing at my heart, coming close to ripping it out. It would be much simpler to just end its existence, because that seems to be what the figure wants these days. At first I thought the figure wanted to simply provoke a reaction to finally be noticed and re-acknowledged, but since then things have changed with the figure. Assisted suicide. That’s what it wants. Or is it? I’m not quite sure…
Nobody knows. It would take attention. Intuition. A moment of not focusing on oneself. There’s beauty in this world, but there’s also an area of darkness that remains inconspicuous to most. No one notices it within others very often. It’s all internal. It’s all in our heads. Well that’s the most dangerous thing for one’s sanity. For their mental health. For their happiness. To continue going on through life, caring about others, wanting to connect to them, needing to connect to them, but not feeling the same care reciprocated. It’s like you’re that cashier that continuously asks distracted customers how they are, and wishing their ungrateful ass a good day when you finish giving them what they bought. You’re left feeling alone, while standing surrounded in a crowded room. You’re never alone in the literal sense, but you’re always alone in reality. Depth doesn’t seem to exist anymore. Intimacy is a rarity. No one knows how to connect anymore… Actually, that’s not true. No one cares. There is a lack of interest. “Focus on someone but myself? Make someone feel valued? Have genuine interest in someone? Pshh that’s too much work, I’ll just let people treat me like some amazing discovery while I remain indifferent towards them.”
The other day, I looked in my mirror, and in the reflection, I saw a stranger. She looked at me with wide eyes, begging to be noticed, but I avoided eye contact. She made weird faces, bugging out her eyes, sticking out her tongue, forcing a smile, finally shedding tears in defeat. None of it worked. I looked at her, but not directly at her. I was scared, and she was sad. I had forgotten her in the mirror. Every time I step in front of that mirror, I look right past her. I don’t look, because I don’t recognize her anymore. I’m afraid that if I look too long, it will all become to real. I’ll finally take notice that I’ve heartlessly abandoned her for all these days. The fear that I’ll remember her. Who she was, her vibrancy, her enthusiasm for life, how I felt whole when I saw her in the mirror and could tell you her name. Every second she’s trapped in that mirror, I hear her cry. It’s quiet in efforts to not disturb anyone, yet I hear it all the time and it keeps me awake at night. She knows I hear her. I feel her presence beside me wherever I go. She and I used to be one, but now we’re two entirely different entities. She’s drowning in her tears, and I’m numb. She screams at me, in order to bring me back to reality. She makes a mess in every area of my life in order for me to see the destruction to bring me back, to make me aware. Yet I’ve lost all touch with reality. She knows that. That’s why she continues this seemingly pointless effort.
She’s the only one who knows, and she’s the only one who can bring me back.
Sitting, surrounded by people, and none know a single thing that’s going on. The opposite sex accidentally reveals their struggle blatantly, but yours remains hidden. It’s random, unexpected, but also pleasant. You’re not supposed to feel these sensations while in public. It’s a private matter. You tell yourself to stop. To think about neutral topics. Despite it all, your body rages on. Coerced by nothing, stimulated by the unexpected. It’s just happening. As hard as you try to stop it, to repress it, it continues on.
The second you can, you run to a private space. You question why you’d allow yourself to feel such innapropriate sensations in public. ‘It didn’t harm anyone.’ ‘Yeah, but it’s also deviant behavior.’
There’s a knock at the door. You answer, and in he walks. That innocent little striped dress is now slipped off of your body by his big hands, with your assistance. Next thing you know, there you lay, directly undrrneath him, both of you with minimal fabric to cover your bodies and shield your eyes from lustful glances. His gaze is begging to look at your body in its one true state. Unclothed, unaltered, the imperfections revealed. You look into his eyes and desire the same of him. To have him reveal his body, for you to watch as he unveils what your body is begging to see. Both of you take turns indulging in how every part of one another’s bodies feel under the touch of your hands, how wonderful it is to run your mouth along the most delicate, sensitive areas, and place a kiss, or deliver a tantalizingly gentle bite. Your lips meet, and your tongues begin to explore and intermingle, like two long lost lovers discovering one another once again. He flips you two over, and now you’re on top. You’re nearly naked form on display. The first article of clothing… Then the next… Suddenly you’ve found yourself completely stripped of everything. His eyes take in every inch of your body, arousing all of his senses. It’s his turn next, and he happily obliges. Soon, the two of you have now found yourselves ultimately revealed. There’s nothing left to cover, everything’s exposed. You indulge in your desires. Your bodies mold as one, as he moves in you. You engage in the most sensual, lustful, forbidden, sinful, dirty act known to man, and you love every second of it.
Happy as ever, a picture perfect couple on paper. Around everyone else you two appear to be happier than ever. Deep inside you both are breaking. You want to make this work, but is it simply becoming a test to see how long you can maintain it? Sure you two care for one another, but where is the passion, the lust, the total understanding. No not the best friend kind of understanding. The kind that when you look into that person’s eyes, you know you’ve finally found that feeling, that connection that you’ve been looking for. It’s not just a lustful gaze, comfortable gaze, or a passionate gaze, it’s all of those and more combined into one look. You two are the only ones in the room in that moment, and everything fades away. The objects in the room are just a blur to you. All you see are those beautiful eyes staring back at you. That’s surely not what this is though… Yes there’s history, and yes they’ve got your back, but is them being them simply enough for you? If years down the road you were to meet again, with faded memories, and see them pounds heavier, would that feeling they give you still remain the same? If they were to do something that frustrated you to no end, would your reasoning be to get mad now, but not give up on them because the feeling of being apart would tear you apart to no end? Is your love for them unconditional? Not simply meaning you’d go out on a limb for them. That’s caring for someone–It’s quite common. The kind of unconditional that draws you to them when they’re away. They remain in your thoughts even when out of sight. The kind of connection that no matter what they do, no matter what’s going on, no matter how they look, just being them is enough. That’s all that matters. You wouldn’t have it any other way. You don’t want someone fitter, more intelligent, more accomplished, you want them. Only them. They’re perfection. Not external perfection, but rather internal. Every part of their soul resonates with yours and brings you peace, happiness, and fulfillment. If something exists between you two that we all can’t see, then by all means, continue on, keep the details of your relationship a secret to others. Allow others to see only a mirage of the two of you. Pretend to be the cookie cutter perfect couple. When you two appear to fumble and sink into a boring depressive state in public, don’t feel the need to defend your relationship if there’s more to it all that no one else is able to see but you two. If being apart is harder than being with them, then by all means, stay and savor every moment you’ve got. They’re your definition of perfect, not anyone else’s. Don’t feel the need to defend a connection you know is strong. Though if what they all say is true, if they’re simply not the one for you, listen to them, listen to those doubts you’re having. Perhaps you care for them, but spending your time with someone who doesn’t truly love you unconditionally, who you don’t truly love unconditionally, is surely a waste.
To those of you who read this thinking it was about you, just know that this isn’t just one person or couple I’m talking about. This is based on a mixture of all the relationships I’ve seen around me. But if at any point this made you think of someone, or a relationship, don’t ignore that. Just look at this like one of those cheesy reposts on Instagram with the caption “I never mentioned a name, but someone popped into your head while reading this.”
Imagine for a second, a freshly steeped cup of tea. No sweeteners or creamers added. It is raw and unique in its particular set of flavors. Each cup of that one flavor however, is different than the next. No cup of tea is the same. Though once you get past that simple fact, there is also tea with honey. This cup of tea with honey is just like the rest, but it is extra sweet. It’s addictive. At points you find yourself having an afternoon cup of tea with the addition of honey not because you find yourself parched, but rather, you crave it.
Voices are much like tea. They’re all different, whether or not they share similarities, not one is the same. When you add sugar and creamer to tea, I would say that’s a thicker version of a particular tone of voice. But when you add honey to tea, it is like a voice with a perfect accent.
The way you speak entrances me. I could listen to you whisper sweet nothings into my ear all day. When in a fit of passion, you declare your desire for me as a whisper in my ear, the trill and the quality of your voice weakens me every time. I never knew a voice could seduce me until I heard you speak for the first time. It’s unique in every way, and just hearing your voice makes me smile and bite my lower lip in utter content. Hearing you laugh is almost as entrancing as hearing you speak, because there is a thickness and perfect taint to that beautiful laughter. Its unapologetically raw and pure in the expression of your true natural pitch. That laughter of yours resonates within a room and brings warmth with it. I have one last comment and then I’ll leave it at that. I love your voice and want you to know that every moment you speak, every moment you laugh adds to the essence of a room. Don’t let that perfect voice ever be silenced. Don’t ever let it go to waste.
Time is a social construct made for those who feel compelled to measure life, measure moments, measure the time it takes to obtain happiness. There are others who disregard this petty measurement. They don’t see it as lacking or possessing value, it simply exists to them. A short love is not any less powerful than a longer love. You commit for a year, you commit for 4 months, the longest must be the strongest, right? It just might be the one that was worth holding onto. Well maybe that’s the case, but other times, the love most fleeting, those connections torn apart by bad timing, those are even more powerful, consuming, and captivating. However, let’s not discount time all together, for it plays a more drawn out role in those shorter love affairs too. It’s the time spent yearning for a lover’s presence after the split, it’s the time you’ll never get back, but couldn’t care less. The longer something resonates within your mind, the harder it becomes to deny it your attention.So when you pride yourself at staying together so long, 1 year, 2 years, whatever it may be, and celebrate that milestone, I apologize for my perplexed expression. Yes, it’s commendable that you’ve stuck together for so long, but I can’t help but be saddened by the thought that it’s so prevalent in your mind. What’s with the counting? The tallying of the days? I feel as though that alters your mind to think of it as a challenge, not a pleasure, to stay with one another. It’s like one of those games that requires intense endurance, that you can’t wait to set the record and finally take a rest (traffic master or flappy bird anyone…). Sure, setting that record feels great, and it provides ultimate bliss, but you’ve just cheapened the game. Where is the pure enjoyment of playing it? I think the problem is that it was never for the fun of the game, it was winning, it was beating the rest, proving you could do it.
Now I’m not saying you must look at games differently, but I feel you should look at relationships and love differently if this is the mentality that you’ve adopted. It’s not failure to lose a relationship 1 week in, 1 month in, 2 months in, etc. It’s simply a byproduct of self discovery. Your self discovery, but also the self discovery of who you date and choose to love. You find what you’re looking for, how you want to be treated, how you need to be treated, and they do the same. If in the process, one of you finds that it’s not working, it’s not a failure. In fact, that’s a success. You may not think that at the time, but when you’re happy years down the road, knowing that you two weren’t meant to be, you’ll be glad you stopped tallying the days and trying to set your new best record for the longest relationship you’ve had. Because that’s when you’ll find a relationship that feels like you’ve only been together for a week, when in reality, it’s been years. Days will blend together, and you won’t care to keep track of how long it’s been, cause that’s not important to you. You live in the moment of love, and that’s all that matters.