Finally got around to making a cover because I’ve been feeling much better and my allergies aren’t killing me today. Music does wonders to the soul.
It’s a sitting outside on the emerald green grass or a random bench at the park while reading my book and sipping on my tea kind of day. What better way to get rid of the blues than to delve into one of the greatest chunks of literature with my favorite type of tea?
Anyone care to join me?
“You think that dragon eggs were this speckled?”
I giggled with a certain sadness that I couldn’t know all of the answers to the world and swung my swaying head upwards to stare into the dizzying, dark sky. The stars glinted like a bed of diamonds as the wispy, gray clouds floated in uneven patches overhead, making my headache increasingly worse.
“See that? People always say that every cloud has a silver lining, or whatever. Well, I think that that’s just a bunch of bullshit.”
I breathed in the cold air, thinking that the fresh air was supposed to stop the turmoil and the turnings in my alcohol filled stomach, to clear up the fogginess that was glazing over my mind.
“I know I’m drunk, hehe. Why do I always get so sad when I drink? It’s stupid and silly and I should be having the best times of my life. I’m young and healthy and capable — why should I be so sad?”
I forced myself to let out a chuckle, but couldn’t bear to continue with it, so I stopped and looked over to my right… To see nobody. I let out a gigantic sigh and took my right hand, slapping it across my cheek and letting it stay there, to sap the glowing heat from it.
I shrugged and kept looking upwards, pushing my head as far back as possible and letting it hang against the back of my neck.
It looked as if the clouds were swirling pools of spit, dirty and murky, not really having a place to go, just floating and hoping to dissolve — like me.
I turned my head to the distant sounds of the railroad tracks clicking and the loud horn from the train that was echoing and got up from the bench to leave.
I just really need somebody right now. I don’t care who… But it’s 3:14 in the morning and who would be awake or even want to be awake to keep my miserable and pitifully sorry self some company? I am on the verge of relapsing — or even worse —
I met up with an old friend the other night.
Sadness was our conversation.
We didn’t need to edify it to know that things between us had changed so radically. It’s funny, what expectations and your wondrous imaginations can do to you.
Have you ever felt this feeling before? Where you’re sitting with an old buddy, whom you haven’t hung out with for months, and all you feel between you two is a heartbreaking sadness? It’s not even awkward or remotely uncomfortable that you haven’t been together in forever or haven’t even been able to sustain a single conversation — it’s just really heartbreaking to see that your friend, the one who had always brought out the best in you and had always been there for you, has changed, dramatically, and not for the better.
People change — I get that. You change, I change, we all change. But I believe that some of us (can still) stay relatively the same, And… For me, my life had been saved by him, not once, but multiple times. He was the one who had taught me to soften my heart. I truly learned what the word “kindness” means, from him, and how I should treat other people with the respect that we are all human and we all don’t know what we are doing with our lives, so we should simply be accepting of each other and our faults.
All of that kindness, understanding, compassion, those gentlemanly manners, open-mindedness, thoughtfulness, and — almost all of the good in him had vanished.
Just like that.
His words were harsh and excessively profane. Him greeting me without the usual, warm hug had caught me off guard. His bright and smiling face had hardened and crusted into this deep frown, this coursing anger that I couldn’t quite place my finger on. No eye contact, absolutely none. And, he — actually, I don’t even want to go into any of the other details. It gets surprisingly worse from here on out.
Everything about him was completely the opposite from what I grew to knew, from who I grew to admire, adore, and love, and everything that had happened that night felt like it had tipped the balance of the world and sent me spiraling.
What do you do when you can’t help somebody? You can’t fix them. You can only watch as they tumble into turmoil and despair. You can only hurt, watching them hurt. You can only hope that they will get better, that they will find peace and happiness within themselves, because, ultimately, they are the only ones who can fix themselves.
It’s not that I don’t love him anymore. It’s not that I won’t be there for him anymore when he needs me.
I’m just wondering what I should do because so many unspoken things are, first of all, unfair — and the craziest thing about this all is that it seems as though he doesn’t care about me, or our friendship. I don’t know where his passion for life went. I don’t know where his smiling eyes went. I don’t know where his laughter went. It’s nothing but bitterness and sadness that I see that cloud over his existence.
When he told me that he didn’t care if I was judging him and that he could sense that I was judging him — that’s when I knew I had lost him. He forgot that I’m not the type of person to do these things.
I’m confused. I’m shocked. I’m in sort of a panic. I’m traumatized. I’m worried. I’m worried. I’m worried. I’m worried to death. I’m heartbroken, to say the least.
And to be painstakingly, brutally honest, most importantly to myself, I feel like this friendship is and has been over for awhile. As of now, it seems quite impossible to get what we had, back to where it was. I’m not asking for things to be the same as they were. I’m not asking for the “good, ol’ days” because that’s just being a fool. But all I’m asking for is my friend back — the one who anchored me to this earth, who upheld such high virtues and righteous morals, and the one who mentored me through life. I just want him to be happy again, to find life and gratefulness in the tiny things.
I felt like crying hysterically that night — every second of it tugged at my heart in a million different directions, not even a thousand knife wounds or a consistency of firing gun shots could imitate the pain that I felt when I was sitting through that thick, suffocating silence — but I didn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to break down in front of him. I had my guard up, and I don’t know why — it felt like I was sitting in front of a stranger, but at the same time, not really.
I’m not sure if he still reads this thing — but if he does, I’m sure he will know that I was feeling some of these things. If he doesn’t know this, then he must have really forgotten about me, about who I am… And that’s — that would leave me even more speechless than I am right now.
So I ended things on a happier note, by texting him and saying thank you for that night, even if it was… Not what I was expecting. Who knows when I’ll ever talk to him or see him again, right? Right — better to leave things on a good note, then on a sad one, even if we both know that things have changed for the worse.
My heart hurts when I think about people, certain people.
I should probably stop thinking about people.
Too much to do before I depart and it’s stirring quite an annoyance in me. Sometimes I wonder if it’s best to leave things the way that they are — unfinished and unanswered. But it pesters, festers inside of me, that my farewells might be unjustified and be twisted into something entirely different… Then again, why should I care — about being justified, about gifting a clean and simple answer for people, and about anything else other than my grandiose exit? People never bother to be honest about the truth or to care about any of these matters — not until after somebody disappears forever. Why should I grant them the luxury of having closure?
For the people who asked to see a bigger version of my new display picture, and also for the new and old followers who haven’t seen how this face of mine was doing in a long while. Don’t worry, I’m still a fierce, little kitty.
Thanks for you people for always supporting me and for keeping me motivated, to do what I love best: being weird. Haha, just kidding. I meant writing…
I was half-asleep, in that bizarre time period between being barely awake and entering dream mode. It was horrifying. Everything that I had crammed inside of the corners of my mind was let loose into my reality, into the physical world, and I thought that I was going to, quite literally, die. I was in hysterics and it’s a wonder how my parents didn’t jolt awake in anger and confusion from my screeching, my screaming, my sobbing, and the beating of my fists against the poor, off-white wall.
My limp limbs are still shivering with the fright that came with those terrifying ghosts, gremlins, and goblins. Sometimes, most of the time, I wish that sleep wasn’t so necessary. I think I’ll go vomit now.
The moon looks like my fingernails sometimes,
So I bit them all off.
The sun looks like the orbs of my eyes sometimes,
So I tore them both out of their sockets.
I don’t want to look like something.
I want to look like me,
But I don’t even know who that looks like,
So I’ll just have to settle for:
Bleeding, broken, blistered and battered.
In pieces, not a whole.
No, a whole, in pieces.