And I wish I could give you enough courage for you to accept and understand that what they see and how they see it shouldn’t be what affects us at all. But I understand where you’re coming from, but in moments like this, I just wish differently.
It’s not fair. Never was, never will be. The moon, the greatest secret treasurer of all. For ages it has seen and for ages it has cultivated such profound wisdom; in all its masterful sight, it has become an ally. The moon sees every story, though when it was younger, it might not have understood. But it understands now: every heartbreak and reconciliation, every incident that warranted a crying period, the deaths that were shocking - that came as they were from the hands of young children it had seen growing up - the experiences and the pain that have moulded them. The moon was and is omnipotent, it wishes it has a voice loud enough to remind the lonely souls that it can see their other halves searching for them too. Whether you’re in Paris, Dublin, London, New York, Amsterdam or Singapore, the moon is the one and the same. It watches, it waits. It will never forget. And everyday passes with it always listening, always learning.
I want an apartment with a high ceiling and a wooden floor with a low bed with lovely white sheets. I want that one window that bridges the sunlight and the fresh outside air to connect with the tangibility of physical affection that one might show when one loves another. I want a basket full of happiness - puppies of all sorts that yelp and have eyes so warm that you might melt when you see them. I want a singular moment that might be able to fulfill a few paragraphs in the poem ‘Raw with Love’ written by Charles Bukowski. I want the outside deck with the walkway connecting the room to the poolside, I want the shelves and shelves of books that will push you into a labyrinth where all time will be forgotten, non-existent. I want you and the warmth of your body to lurk behind the shadows of nightmares and fears that I have and surprise them by shining so brightly with your ridiculous genius moments of madness. I want
Today I promise you and myself that whether or not I question your fidelity based on any assumptions whatsoever, that I don’t care anymore. If you want to hurt me you’re allowed to, and if you want to do whatever you want and put anything else before or above, you can; I have stepped two times into this and I am prepared to dive or drown, whichever you want to happen to me. Know that I’m not going to leave or walk away, my suitcases are far from packed.
Sophie is an entirely different person. But I want to love you till I explode into a million tiny fragments that we have to search the entire world to piece back together. Yes, entirely made out of cheese.
I have forgotten your grin, your touch, your kisses, your concern, the way I should remember how your eyes have sparkled with the atrocity of mischief; everything feels so alien and distant, and they should be, because all I have left are just inconsistent memories that cannot be chronologically arranged as they should be in the correct order. You have been replaced, reorganized, pushed away, pushed back and out and your flame has flickered and died out.
The one standing moment that I can remember, is the one that I have always kept going back to in December. Absence makes the heart forget.
The way I see it, everything is a blank state, an empty wall, a face you can’t read and one big twisted poker game that you cannot win. The tearing down of strongholds and masks is never easy. We look from afar and we assume that everything we see isn’t true. We look for hidden intentions, motivated to search for what is false. Fabricated lies always make for a good enough story. The way you start to put your faith in the imagination of something that doesn’t exist, something intangible - the first step to bringing yourself down or pushing yourself forward.
In all their minds, there are so many little worlds, many things we do not understand, many things that we have yet to believe in, many things that we do not want happening in the created universe of our own. I look at the people on the streets and I’m curious to know of their worried rushed actions that might portray a broken heart with a tortured soul, or is it just because we all occupy ourselves to escape what truly matters? Love is a force that can push people to drastic measures. Anger can be temporary, love permanent but the opposite of love is indifference, and I cannot be indifferent.