Tag Archives: Loneliness

Withering roots

He stood in the sandstorm defiant but weak. He knows it was happening, it was only a matter of time. In arrogance, he’d dug his roots deep into the ground, dreaming of giving it life. Instead, his roots have long since died – they were only gold and glitter in his mind. But deep inside, they were fragile – they were dying like the dust particles strewn around by the wings of a butterfly.

His tears his the ground and the sand breathed life, but his sacrifice has died long before it was made. It was ridiculed, it was hated, it was shunned by all as he stood there wet in his confusion. The tears left trails of memories across his face like dry lakes and rivers. Death slowly spread up from his roots into his legs. But he just stood there, dying in the gloom of his despair and fears.

He’d never been the kind of person who would look at the future – that was the realm of the clairvoyant. He only knew how to dig into the dreams and chew on hope to sustain himself. He regretted the falling petals that left him bare to the elements of the chipping little axes. He pushed his roots down deeper as the singing continued to drift from far away.

The floating fish appeared in and out, one minute at his roots the other whispering in his ear. It was not comfort anymore, however. When it found him again this time, he was broken – the remnant of who he was when he bloomed in that fateful winter. Now it was too late for him. He had failed to make piece with his dreams and his fears, but they couldn’t care less. They both just stood there, unlovable witnesses to the rot eating away at his root.

There is no life in that soil anymore. What once stood defiant was now just one more sick lie made in the face of the piranhas that swam through the sandstorm. All he could see was their stealing little knives biting at his proud branches that once picked color directly from the sun. In a purple storm, the sandstorm consumed him, bringing him down to his knees.

In a last frantic attempt he cried out to the ground, looking for something to hold him in place – to save him one more time. But the ground had no life. It never did. He only thought so in his arrogance of blind. There had ever only been death that moved through his blood. He was born to a grand visage, only to die in the piss of failed dreams. He cried out to the sun, but he knew it has long since forgot him.

His roots withered, and the stings of the sandstorm took away his eyesight. All he could see was his lifeless blood, drawing out cosmic rays of life around the world. All he could do was sigh as the rot spread out through him, finally bringing him to his knees to lay with the other lifeless dreams that have died here.

Of loneliness

I only miss you all the time. It’s been so long, way way too long, and I feel so lonely without you. I keep hoping I’ll see you again sometime, that we will sit and talk and laugh like we used to when the world was still spinning.

I have tried to make sense of things since you’ve been gone. I tried to explain to myself why you are not here anymore. I tried to paint your face, but it’s always distorted. The colors are never right. The lines are always shivering. It’s never anything like you. I learned a lot, unlearned a lot, and moved on to end in the same spot again. Only this time, I can’t find you there anymore. I wouldn’t mind ending up here forever if I’m with you.

When it’s too hard on me, I write you letters. I write my heart out and it darkens the paper. I take one look at it and then toss it away. How can I send you something like this? I try again, I search for something to write – something to inspire your heart and make you smile again like the last time we met – but then all I have are demons swimming inside my head.

I used to write about tomorrow, now all I can write about is yesterday. You were my yesterday, you made it better, you made sense of the flow of dreams that crushed the rocks they threw at us. But when I try to write about tomorrow, it’s always lonely, and I hate the darkness because I keep thinking maybe you are there and I can’t see you – and that drives me crazy.

Sometimes I want to read to you. I mean, I know you won’t be listening, but I still want to do it all the same. The words may carry you to me, or me to you, and it would all be worth it. I never really know what to read you though. It’s all too purple, like that color a few days after you put a drop of ink into a bowl of water. It’s ugly, persistent and it isn’t going anywhere. I could read you the lies I write, I think you’ll like these at least. I think they will make you cry, then they’ll make you laugh, then they’ll make you cry again.

Once in a while, I go out walking and pretend I’m walking with you. The hard rough asphalt gives way to lush greens. I really just want to listen to you and your stories. I want to know what it’s like where you are now. I’d like to think you don’t think of me anymore. I don’t want you to even remember me, even though I can’t ever stop thinking about you.

Maybe when the flowers bloom, we’ll be together again. Maybe when the songs of the insects at night take on words we’ll meet again. Only we both know the flowers won’t bloom, and the insects don’t care about us, and all we have is sand bruising our skin now.

So for now, my friend, I sit back and talk to you again in the darkness, hoping maybe you are somewhere there. I talk to you about the weather and the shapes I see in the clouds. I would like to tell you stories, to tell you how I feel, but I can’t bring myself to do it, not after all you’ve done for me, and what I’ve done with it.

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.

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.