Colors

I would take the colors and splatter them all over you, I don’t care what color lands where, I don’t care if it fits together or not. I’ll just breathe color back into your dead soul. You’d be beautiful, even if you’re a mess. You’d be alive.

You’d be less vile. I’d be less angry. We’d go on long walks again that won’t end up in us fighting and cussing. We’d be best friends again. I’d kick my shoes off and wade into the waters with my clothes fully on while you laugh, and I’d feel safe knowing you dream of me on the same nights I dream of you.

I don’t care if you’re beautiful – you’re not beautiful. You’re probably uglier than most. But who am I to care? I’m far from beautiful myself. As long as your imperfections reflect on my soul, I couldn’t care less. As long as I can tease you and you’d smile, as long as you speak fondly of me when I’m not there, I’m happy.

I’ll rub my fingers into the colors and draw my crappy doodles all over you, watch them break apart, and then redraw them again slightly better as we laugh till we cry, then cry till we laugh and lay back in the mud – shooing away the tiny insects that creep over us. As long as I got you, there’s little they can do to harm either of us.

And when it’s the flowery season, and all we get is dust in our eyes, we can just huddle closer together and cough it out. I’ll wash your hair with the colors and you’ll be as good as new. If it gets too bad, we’ll just dream the flowers back instead of the dust and color them together. Not reds and violets, let’s color them electric aqua and vibrant green – because why not, right?

With the full palette of colors in hand, let’s paint a new dawn for you and I. Let’s be friends, or lovers, or friend lovers. Let’s paint colors of hope and resilience. Let’s bash the walls and run, alive, wherever we want to go. Let’s color life, because I can’t take the darkness anymore. I can’t take not seeing or touching you anymore.

Let’s not die. Please let’s not die.

Remember when we died?

Remember when we died?
Remember how we had no notion of being heroes back then
We just pulled up like horned giants and grabbed life by its rich fabrics
And just leaped?

Remember when we went digging in the trash and found gold?
We sprinkled it in the air and everything it touched was reborn
When we talked, we roared
When we roared, the elements stood still in awe

Remember when we finally fell to the mud
It wasn’t by the stones or bullets flying at us like the reaper’s scythe
Those only stripped away our fragile lies and exposed our golden engraved will
It was by the razors of friends, thrown like whirling nightmares,
That cut us and our dreams down to size

They said there’s no dignity in death
But we didn’t care when we spat at death,
Determined to rise as we kill death
We would fly away to become fiery birds of legend
To become rains of life, of love, of peace

Remember when we finally died
It wasn’t as glorious a as we thought it to be
We were just left there bleeding on the sidewalk
Like rabid dogs they hardly looked at us anymore

Come sip with me of the grand wines of the forgotten
For as they rub off our names from their history with spit
The stars will forever tell tales of what we did
We are not of this world, my brothers and sisters

We belong to the sky and we will never be brought down
And when the sun sets on our dreams,
Very few will remember when we died

The girl and the moon

When she stayed up late to talk to the moon, it was hardly ever about something happy. She was always grateful for that. It was the one time throughout the day when she could let down her masquerade. Whenever he came licking at her window, he never had expectations of her. He didn’t come to laugh or to have fun, he only came because she was she.

In return, she didn’t really have any expectations of him either. When it rained on her, the moon never tried to shield her. He just sat next to her till he was dripping too, and she was grateful for that. When she talked and talked he did not get bored, nor did he often reply. He just hung at her window like a spotted rabbit, an old friend who always came unannounced but always welcome.

Tonight the sky was particularly misty but the moon stopped by her window anyways. He had missed her since last night, and knew she felt the same. They sat at her bedroom window, eating cheese crackers off the windowsill. Tonight the conversation was, as usual, hardly a cheery one.

She spoke to him of the ghost that once was. He still visits her long after he’d disappeared, always coming uninvited in the worst of times. She told the moon how it felt when he passed through her, how very cell in her body tingled as she inhaled him, and how a moment later he had left, leaving her emptier than before.

She cuddled up to the moon when her tears came. He never judged her when she cried, he never even tried to rub off the tears as they slid down his smooth surface. He left them there to dig their way, leaving tracks that became part of him, reflected forever on all of Earth. He hardly talked when she did, but it was his way of trying to take away her scars, which he was most familiar with.

She talked to him throughout the night, and he only realized it was dawn when the morning birds came to chip away at the cracker crumbs they dropped on the windowsill. The moon was reluctant to leave her. It’s not because he thought he can help her, he knew he can’t. She was his favorite. She saw him like few others ever did. But he had to leave before he’d melt out in the sun, never to see her again.

By the time dawn came, she was fast asleep, cuddled up to him. She was smiling, and the moon was happy. He softly lay her in her bed as he made his way away. She’ll wake up to the birds, and she will smile. She will eat breakfast and start a whole day – and it won’t be easy – till it is night again.

Of hate and love

I hate you. I fucking hate you. I hated you every time you cut me down just when I was about to reach for my dreams. I hated you when you took all I care for, chewed it up and spat it back at me with that sickening onyx smile of yours. Every time you saw me dying in the mud, you walked on by.

All I wanted, all I did, was for you. I wanted it to work out between us. I wanted to swallow up all the deathly shades around you. I wanted to give us a fighting chance, a maddening chance. I just wanted to lay down and dream with you, then dream into you, so I can finally be part of you.

I gave you the best of me and you tossed it into the void. I spent nights helplessly thinking of all that you ripped out of me and distorted in a heartbeat. There’s very little of me I recognize when I look into the mirror now. All I see are parts of you, and they are the ugliest parts of you.

But I love you. And I really don’t know how to stop. When we walk together, when we go to all our places, when we get lost and stumble on those little trodden paths and giggle because we don’t care, I love you. I still don’t know how to be with another. I don’t even want to be with another. I want to cuddle up with you and talk to you, even when I know you’ll just bash my head against a bloody wall again and toss back your long black hair.

When the stars drifted outside my window at night, I only wished to be more for you, to have more so I can give to you. Yes it’s senseless, yes I know you’ll take it all, rip out the skin on me and toss it to the rabid dogs as you move on. But I still wish for more to give to you. I never wanted to be with another. I would just linger on with you, wishing and waiting impatiently for that smile you rarely flash at me anymore. I can never share the dreams I shared with you with another.

Now there’s very little of me left. I’m not dead but I’m not alive either. I have given all I can and more. You know it as well as I do. And if I had more, I would given it all and scrap the last bits of, wrap it up in my hopes and dreams, and hand it to you, that you may look at me differently again. I would have hated you as I kiss you lovingly again.

Just let me roll up next to one of your walls and hug me close. If I’m to lose the last remnants of my soul, I want you to be there so that they fall into your palm. Maybe, just maybe, you will take them and make them into something worth more than they ever were. Even if you just choose to toss them and trample on those worthless pieces again, I would want them for no one but you.

And I won’t hate you.

The Keyhole

He sat in his small room with the bare walls closing in on him as his thoughts tried to escape out of his mind,  looking for a place to thrive and grow and expand.

Slowly he picked up the purple crayon and started drawing a keyhole on the floor beneath his feet. His shivering hands made it hard and the crayon fell several time before the jagged keyhole was complete. He put down his crayon on the ground, where it slowly disappeared into air.

He peeked through the keyhole, knowing very well what he would see on the other side of the world. He didn’t want to look, he had no right to look. He had lost that a long time ago. But he couldn’t help it. He needed to see. He needed to be close again. Even if he was on the other side of the world.

All he could see was a thick darkness that seemed to solidify into black pearls in his eyes. Then slowly, as his eyes adjusted and the tentacles pulled away, he could make out a silhouette at the end of the room. Her silhouette.

There were spirits dancing around her. Trying to pull her closer, trying to slip into her and become one with her. It took little effort from her to keep them at bay. She just wasn’t interested.

Bony fingers crept out of the ground, trying to pull her down and break her. They hated the way she whirled around, unbound by the primitive rules that ruled their worlds. She had set herself free from it all when she threw it all in the wind, leaving the jingling alarms behind and only hearing the serenity inside her. She floated in the bloom, unaware of anything but.

She danced on through the void she’s stuck in, never noticing the spirits or the dead fingers. She was distant, detached, and depraved of most of life. She was the void. She was eternal. She was the dreams and nightmares of a thousand different souls yet none could ever get close to her.

I called out her name through the keyhole and for a second it felt like she heard me – she almost broke out of her trance and stared at the empty air, never seeing me but almost seeing into me. It lasted for a fraction of a second,  but I could almost swear I saw the shadow of a smile before it all faded away.

The monster spoke the words and the keyhole disappeared, along with that last glimpse of a smile. So much was left unspoken, so much still lingered in the husky air. The dream still lingered undreamed, a future was left unhoped, a vision was left unseen.

It all disappeared with the keyhole.

The snow

It only snows when I’m walking alone. I’ve never shared the snow with anyone. I don’t want to either. Somehow, if I ever do, it won’t make sense anymore.

That loneliness is the only way to hold on to those thoughts, those dreams we shared. It’s the only way to grasp the elusive rays of hope we once had, all the silly stories we faked together.

I miss you.

And no it’s not getting any easier with time. I don’t share it with anyone, how can you share a nameless emotion that is as unique as each ray of sunlight falling on your face in the morning?

I miss you.

It’s in the little things they’ll never notice. Like how your coffee mug doesn’t smile anymore. The wrinkles in your favorite chair miss you, you know. The birds pecking at your window know there’s something wrong. Even the silver rain crackling on the old floorboards are lonely without you.

There’s something special about throwing the snow in the air and watching the drizzle fall to my face. It makes me feel alive, when most often I don’t anymore.

The mountain often calls out your name. I never know what I’m supposed to say. It stands resolute, watching over the debacle around and wondering where the stars go to hide. The climb will never make sense again, because the stars and distant night lights only cared for you, never for me.

And I still miss you.

It isn’t even a little bit easier. They say that time heals all wounds, but the scars never stop bleeding when the monsters are out and about. I try to paint with my blood, to tell stories of you and I, but it never cuts it. Maybe the words are lost in a song, somewhere I cannot reach or, maybe I am too scared to reach.

I shake the snow out off my hair, engrossed in the numbness on my cheeks. The little flowery crystals fall down everywhere around me, settling quietly in the emptiness. I never shared the snow with anyone, but I’ve always shared it with you.

A broken kite

“It just won’t fly. Don’t you understand? Can’t you see it’s broken?”

We didn’t need to hear it. We could see it just fine. Yes, it was broken. What they don’t understand is that we just don’t care.

Who are you to decide what the kite can or can’t do? Who are you to decide what we can hope to do with it and what we can’t?

It was never about the kite flying, it was always about us flying the kite. It has always been just about us. We loved the kite for all its faults. We were happy even if it never flew as long as we were together.

The problem is you can’t understand that. You think it’s worthless because it won’t fly. We think it’s worth the world because we are together.

So like little school kids with tangled hair who skipped school to hang out together, we giggle and laugh as we run around trying to make it fly. We jump and we dance and the kite falls to the ground. We run to it, pick it up and get ready for another go. We’ll scribble our names in air and laugh at others who can’t read them.

And throughout it all, we’re together and we’re happy. We’re senseless, and we know it, and we couldn’t care less.

We don’t let go. It won’t let us down. You can make fun of us and point the obvious, you can make the kite feel bad about itself. But you know what? We really will never care. We will run, jump and chase each other in the sand just the same. We will still love the broken kite for all it is, for it is worth much more than its ability to fly.

So yes, the kite won’t fly. It’s broken. But we don’t see it that way. As long as we are together, we can just keep pointlessly trying, and there’s no place I’d rather be.

Pretend to smile

She smiled at them once again. Just one more time. That’s all she needed to do. She had to make it through one more time.

She grinned at their company, laughed at their jokes, and made a few awkward ones herself. She pretended it wasn’t raining inside, that things still made sense. She told herself she’s happy, satisfied, and magical.

But somehow, it all always fell apart. There was a part that’s missing…always missing – like that jigsaw puzzle piece that, when in place, the whole picture came to life. Without it it just didn’t make sense.

She still told them fairytales. She still convinced them dragons and elves were real. She still hoped for something perfect. Even though her whole fairytale had fallen to pieces, they needn’t know. They wouldn’t understand.

How can she explain that the sound her heart makes is different? How can she explain that her smile has stopped glowing? How can she explain that her wounds were gaping blood instead of healing into scars? How can she explain that her dreams of special were violently shattered?

She smiled at everything they said but could hardly hear a word. They could never understand her like he did before. They could never build her up, bit by bit, like he’s done before. They loved her, vying for her attention, but she would give it all up for one more starry night with him.

She grasped desperately at the darkness within, trying to tear its very fabric. She attacked it like a maddened beast, hopelessly hoping that beneath it she’ll find her light – his light – again. Maybe once she grasps it everything will be fine once more, she’d be complete like before. She’d find happiness sparkling all around her once again. But the darkness persisted, like a suffocating dress wrapped around her draining her life slowly.

Just one more time, that’s all she needed to do. Her tears came flowing down her soul once more, while she continued to pretend to smile.

Tea in the desert

He sighed as he sipped his tea. He looked at her as she brought the cup up to her lips and admired the little droplets it left there. She always spills a little when she drinks, he thought as her cup came down on the tray with a clutter.

He looked out at the rain falling in the creaking dry desert they sat in. Each drop of rain thundered down, crashing on the ground, hoping to give live to something but only dying in the end. Thunder came crashing down, splitting his thoughts into a million fragments that floated around them in the darkness of the sunrise.

He pulled one of them close to his eyes and looked into its clinking glass. He saw a floating colorful balloon with a monkey and a camel singing lullabies in the basket. They played with the drops of rain, balancing them on their noses and throwing them to each other. He pulled another piece and saw the monkey and camel sitting by the sea, listening to the lazy waves tumble into each other while a strange bird sang melodies to the sound of the rain.

The shards of glass fell to the ground with a bang, breaking into even smaller pieces that he could not make out anymore. He let out a helpless cry, there were so many more thoughts he would have liked to see. But even the rain failed to bring them life when they fell muted to the glass.

He looked across at her again and admired her distant look. Far out in the desert the clown became a fat cow, but was still dancing, and he was still not funny. How can he be funny when there is no living audience to laugh loudly to him wildly flailing his arms around?

Suddenly a huge worm broke through the ground with a deafening growl and swallowed the clown and the circus tents whole. He jerked out of his rocking chair, spilling the hot tea on his bare feet. He screamed in pain and threw the cup in anger. It landed lazily in the ground, with the rain falling around it until it just became part of the desert.

He looked at her but she did not move. She sat silently sipping her tea. He wondered how she could just sit there through the whole thing. She did not even blink. She turned slowly to look at him as she read his thoughts.

“Nothing here is alive, my love. Nothing is alive. That’s all there is to it.”

And she became part of the desert.