Saturday, August 31, 2013

Almost Everything I Wish I'd Say

I went out for a drive the other night. I put on my most recent, eighty minutes long mixed CD and I went out for a drive. I do that sometimes to clear my head, to get rid of the cutscenes. I don't know what it is exactly, but there is something oddly relaxing about driving in an empty road, windows down, and knowing that in that moment in time, there is nowhere else you have to be, nowhere else you'd rather be. So you drive, and because there is nothing else stopping you, you keep on driving. 40 km/h. 60 km/h. Eighty. But then something does stop you, and you stop.

You stop, in the middle of the road, because Track 7, the name of which you don't remember, reminds you of all the things you have left unsaid, the things you'd rather jot down on a piece of paper than have the courage to say out loud. You stop because the defence mechanism you not-so-ingeniously devised for your oversensitive heart, is not working. It never did work. You stop because then you remember the real reason why you're out driving in the middle of the night, in an empty road, while the cool, hot summer breeze, waltzing in through the open windows of your second hand white car, dries the tears you have been putting off for so long. You stop because you remember. And then, it hits you.

You're leaving. Again. And you're scared. Yes, I'm scared, even though I've done this once or twice before, so I probably shouldn't be. But I'm still scared. Because this time it's real, this time I have to grow up, and I don't think I'm ready to grow up. I don't think I want to, at least not in the way real grown ups grow up. I don't want to be a real grown up. But I guess I have to. So I'm going to try. I'm also going to try and write down almost everything I wish I'd say, because as it turns out, the things you don't say are the ones that need to be said the most; they are usually the ones that matter the most.

Truth is, though, I don't really know where to start. Sometimes words fail me, especially when it comes to the things that matter. They fail me or I fail them. Either way, it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter if you don't always have the right thing to say. It doesn't matter if the words in your head have a rainbow aura surrounding them, but when they make it to your mouth and out in the open, they sound like that little girl who just discovered fairies don't exist. It doesn't matter. What matters is that you say them anyway and by any means necessary. What matters lies in how well you can parade what's hidden deep within your heart.

Like the fact that I love you. But you already know that, don't you? I know you do. What I don't think you know is that I'm sorry. I really am. I'm sorry for wanting to leave. I'm sorry that this is not enough for me, and that it probably never will be. I tried, I wanted it to be, but it's not. Not like this. And I wish I can somehow make you understand that it's not your fault, that if I could, I'd take you with me. Because you are, and will always be, the best thing that ever happened to me, and the thought of not seeing you every day breaks my already-very-fragile heart into a million tiny pieces. But I have to do this. You know I have to. Because this is that moment people talk about when they're 40 or 50, when they're having dinner with their children, and they're talking about how "if only", put together in that order, can be two of the saddest words in this world. This is that moment.

This is it, the moment I have been dreading for a whole year, the moment I have also been waiting for for a whole year. This is it, and now I have to go. I have to go, but a big part of me will always be here, with you. I will always be here with you, for you. Always. And just so you know, it's not you who isn't enough. It's everything else. Because you, you are way more than enough. You, are everything.

You, are my everything, and I love you, a lot. Oh, and one other thing. Please don't forget me.

 Almost Everything I Wish I'd Say: Playlist 

Friday, August 16, 2013

Almost As If

I was sitting on the edge of your black leather sofa.
You were over there, by the kitchen counter,
pouring us both another glass of red wine;
bitter, sweet, touching cloud number nine.

Then you remembered about the playlist,
recorded on a less vintage version of a vinyl,
perfect for musing over the silky sound of smooth sax
and our favourite sultry summer jazz tracks.

And we drank and we danced on the balcony,
slightly merged to the camouflaged city skyline,
like two fools under a voracious voodoo spell,
ignoring the redundant 'do not disturb' signs at the motel.

But then morning came, and you were gone,
almost as if you never existed at all,
almost as if you were over there
and I was over here, patiently
waiting for you
to silently

Tuesday, August 6, 2013

You Are Alive

I don't know why exactly, but we often underestimate the effortless happiness of just being alive. I, writing this, am alive. You, reading this, are alive. You are breathing. Your heart is beating, and it's pumping blood all over your body, from one end to the other. You are alive and you probably don't even care. In fact, you're probably wondering what it is about life that's supposed to make it so worthwhile. Or maybe you just had a bad day, or a couple of bad days, and you're thinking that life, and every little thing in it, is out to get you.

And that's where you'd be wrong. Because the fact that you're alive right now could be the best thing to happen to you today. (It probably is.) Because, this morning, there were people out there who thought they had a tonight, and they don't. And tonight, there are people out there who think they have a tomorrow, and they don't. It's unreal, I know, but they won't be here to see the sun climb from behind the mountains, or to experience its very first rays penetrate their skin. They won't be here at night to look up at the constellations in the sky and feel ridiculously negligible and small while doing so. They won't be here to listen, on repeat, to their favourite all time band, or watch, for the tenth time, the soppiest movie to ever be created by mankind. They won't be here for that adrenaline rush that accompanies travelling, or that warm, fuzzy feeling of waking up to a breakfast in bed. They won't be here to smell the first September rain, or the sea spray as it collides with the pebbles on the sand. They won't be here to kiss that boy or that girl they've had a crush on for the past year. They won't be here to cook dinner, light a candle, read a book, run a marathon, or say "I'm sorry", "I love you".

They won't be here. But you will be. Because you are alive. You may have forgotten, but you are. You are alive. You are breathing. Your heart is beating. Listen to it. Feel it. Do you feel it? Yes? Good. Now go out there and do something about it.


Sunday, August 4, 2013

The Hopeful Idiot

Down at the travelling carnival,
amidst the sunflower fields,
I met a hopeful idiot
who said life was like
a flying kite, soaring high up
in the sky. But he ain't
never seen a kite before,
because kites are for
children, and a child,
he is not. He shrugged as
he tucked the cigar in the
left corner of this mouth,
then he told me all about it,
how he heard the animals whisper,
how it took them a while to open up,
how they promised to show him
how to make a god damn kite.

And there was fire in his eyes,
the kind of fire that doesn't go out,
the kind of fire that burns until
the only thing left burning
is yourself, and the stuffed
lion through the ring.
He puffed on his cigar,
slowly taking it all in.
It was meant to be his very last one,
the last one before he sees a kite.
Tonight, he's making himself a kite.

But tonight's the night
they replace him with the lion. They're
letting him burn through the ring of fire.
That's what the whispers were all about.
And he still doesn't get it. He still thinks
life is like a flying kite, that fire doesn't
burn, that fire doesn't hurt. And it doesn't.
Not really. He's only aching for the kite
he never got to see.

Except he did,
he did see it,
for what I failed to tell him
when I first met him,
down at the travelling carnival,
amidst the sunflower fields,
was that he was
the hopeful idiot, and I
was his god damn kite.