Monday, 9 December 2019

Deep


Daniel rested into the seat, relaxing, taking in the entire room as his eyes slowly glanced around. Sipping his drink, wondering, realising, that today was going to be an amazing day. He knew that he still had a few issues to work through but, saying that, they didn’t bother him as he was tired of trying to fix everyone else. It was his time, his precious solitary time to work towards something better. He, above all, was a fixer within the world. All through his life, he was presented with moments to find solutions, to resolve whatever appeared within his path. Emotionally, physically, professionally and maybe even spiritually.


He lifted his hand, looking at the skin surrounding his fingers. They’d been through so much, touched, lost, held and let go. Upon each fingertip there were scars, the moments that he’d never forget. The scar of letting someone he loved, in the younger years, vanish without a trace. Taken from him, removed from the country, only to return a married woman. The four years, that followed, of anguish and loss, burned into his very soul and heart.

He’d learned, realised, that love wasn’t something that would last forever, despite still holding onto that dream for far, far too long. Naive, not yet that worldly individual that he thought he was back then, he’d eventually moved on. The four years of loss, never to ever return. Lost, abandoned, forgotten and faded.

Next, he looked at the scar of falling in love with the wrong person, a person that wouldn’t have worked at that time. He was still innocent, fragile, expectant to find that love he’d finally returned for. The fool, the play written with someone else’s words, casting him aside as a side character in another’s life. Another scar, another wound of wonder and hurt.

He smiled, remembering the moments of tears and stupidity which, of course, were all experienced with his blessing. He could have chosen to stand tall, walk away, run from the madness that he allowed into his life, but that life and those moments hid actual problems that he needed to find.

Solutions, ablutions, ready for whenever he would realise what he needed to do. Daniel glanced at a few other scars, smiling, understanding, as each new experience eventually resolved into something good, for the others that moved from his life. He played a part, as his previous thoughts pertained to. He’d have it no other way.

Sitting there, smiling, he placed his hand upon the side of his head, feeling the scar from where the life-giving tube sat, when he was born. Next to death, that two-pound ten baby of premature birth, alone, fighting, holding on to each breath that could have been his very last. He closed his eyes, thanking whatever force kept him alive. Decisions, revisions, the luck of the moment or more, he simply did not know. The rain pours, the rain falls, but through such dreary moments, life is born and the world is refreshed.

He once again sipped on his drink, the smile still staying exactly where it should be. He had many, many scars. The fold of his arms, covered with needle marks. The scars upon his knee, the large scar on his abdomen, were all memories of how he managed to reach this very place. No physical scar remained within his mind, as the real scars were caused by his own idiocy with regards to others. He trusted, his moral code being something from a time long forgotten, despite constantly breaking that code to seek some type of self-deprecation.  He wasn’t anything special, he knew this, he felt the realisation, through the very scars written upon his skin. Each time he held someone, it burned into him, as if he were some type of devil made real.

Now fully relaxed, the thoughts still calmly flowing through his mind, he regulated his breathing to reach a place of perfect calm. No matter the solution, the cause or disadvantageous effect, he’d resolved the final niggles that remained within. He was a blank canvas, a place to explore and to become something new. The problem, the one moment that caused him concern, was the very fact that no matter what he did, no matter how many scars he came to terms with, each other person within his life would still have scars, moments, tribulations, which meant that he’d open himself to new moments of pain, or hurt. His smile grew as he knew, he damn well knew, that if you were afraid of getting hurt, or watching as another etched their name onto your skin, then life simply wouldn’t be living, without gaining scars.

The next question, upon his lips was, of course, how deep that scar would be. He didn’t care. He wouldn’t care, as he loved every… single… one of them.


Friday, 29 November 2019

Permission


We live within and we’re a part of, a world that holds hate.  I’m not talking about war, famine, poverty or any of the bigger things, as this is about the small stuff. The little words. The solitary moments where a seemingly passive comment is said.


We live within a world that sees people talk about a person being raped, as if that person deserved it for what they’re wearing, what they said, what they drank or the way they danced. It’s unacceptable, especially when we’re taught, from the earliest age, that the word ‘no’, is and always will be, ‘no’.

We live within a world that is now far more open that it has ever been. Socially, electronically, bringing people closer than ever before, with the real and actual world fader further than we could ever imagine. We’re anonymous, even when our picture is there for all to see. We can speak with impunity, with whatever words we choose, with hatred and vile meanings being built upon by a flood of cheering guests. It’s madness, it’s horrendous, when actual valid common sense and understanding is thrown aside for the vicarious passing comments.

We live in a world that’s no better than the world of old. We’ve read stories of how rumours spread, moving faster and faster with fantastical girth, until someone is burned alive for being a witch or a magic maker. Some, but not all, are willingly able to join the hunt for new chapters within their destructive nature. I find, or should I say that I’ve found, that the people doing the hunting, are usually the ones that are guilty of the crime.

We live in a world where passing remarks scold. Words burn, words change people, break them down and crush their spirits. Each and every single thought we think, creates the actual person we are. It seems difficult to find positivity, when surrounded by negativity. We’re alive, breathing magnets attracting to ourselves what we desire. Misery prefers company and the light, that glorious light, only wishes to shine. We can be selfish, we can take until the coffers run rich, but then complain that we simply do not have enough.

We live in a world where the good within us all, is often strangled and manipulated until the infectious hatred runs wild. There are good people, there are magical people and, of course, there are people that light the room when they arrive. Those people, that type of person, is within each and every single one of us.

We live in a world where passing remarks are meant to instil negativity. We’ve all been there. We’ve all heard the comments that push aside our willingness to achieve, improve or progress. It’s easier to indulge in the gossip, as I myself also do the same. I’m not and never will be proud of such a fact, but it’s part of me. It’s ingrained, it’s written upon every single newspaper within the land.

We live in a world where the person that holds your hand can manipulate, deceive and punish your heart. Your best friend can utter vile words that crush your emotion and, yet, we continue. We have such spirit, such vigour, that even the mightiest armies could never destroy our spirit. That is, of course, if we believe. No-one can hurt you. No word or sentences can destroy your spirit. Not one person can take from you which you have grown within, unless you allow them to do so. Your own mind cannot destroy you, as it attempts to trample upon your willingness to succeed.

We live within a world where you can hold your head up high, without recriminations or judgement. Within each of us is the possibility of a balanced judicial sense of right and wrong. Somehow, somewhere, I’d wish that we could all find that sense of balance. It’s not impossible, it’s not beyond any of us. When the world pushes you, when you hear the words spoken about your very name, when the grace of love seems to abandon you, you and I have a choice. We can become the darkness, we can embrace their words and fall, but no matter what happens to any single person, all you need to remember is that you do not give anyone, the world, or your closest enemy, the permission to take from you what you have created.

We live within a world where we can deny permission, to each and every single person, to hurt us.


Saturday, 23 November 2019

One


Staring out, from behind the broken canopy, Henry remained calm. The perfect calm, overcoming every emotion, every thought, completely and most certainly accepting his fate and circumstance. He’d been trapped in this very spot, for over a day, with no water, food or chance of recovery. The solace that he afforded himself was a simple moment of acceptance. The reassurance embracing his fears, holding his cold body in place, with an oddly serene smile spread across his face.


He lifted his phone into view, the nine percent battery staring at him. No signal, no chance of calling anyone for help, or miraculous last minute save. He knew that this wasn’t the movies, or some television show, with the realism of life staring him in the face. He moved his leg, firmly twisted amongst the metal fragments all around, which didn’t even move a centimetre in any direction.

He smiled, again, damning his luck for the seventieth time. He closed his eyes, wondering what to do, trying to delay the obvious. That last message, the last chance to say what he needed to say before the inevitable took place, sprung to his mind. He’d lost blood, the dehydration not yet fully taking over his sanity, which meant this would probably be his last chance.

He tapped the phone’s screen, gesturing away the home screen, to then press the messaging icon. He wasn’t the most famous person within his circle, but liked, nonetheless. He forced a moderate smile, as the emotion rose within him. Maybe he should have sent more messages, asked more questions, enquired, or even said far more than he did.

He closed the messaging option, deciding to use the audio recorder instead. He pressed the record button and the screen changed. He started to speak, despite not really knowing what to say. He’d never envisioned the moment, where he would have to record his last few words.


Hello, I’m not sure if you’ll ever hear this, but I do hope that someone does.  I’m trapped, hanging over a cliff. Just my luck. Give me ten different ways to go and I’d never pick this. I’m not too sure what to say. What anyone would really like to hear. You’re all living your lives. Hopefully happy. Loved. Making things happen. I’ve always loved the thought of life working out for everyone. For me, not so much. I’ve loved, lost, loved again, then lost once more.

I’m scared. I’m alone. I’ve always felt alone. Surrounded by many, loved by most, the feeling never really leaves. Too scared to take a chance yet not alone enough to balance myself. I’ve been lost for such a long time. Hiding.

I don’t wish for any of you to feel sad, as this is life. Heck, I went whilst on an adventure. What more could any of us want? Yeah, I know, falling asleep holding the hand of the person you love, to leave in your sleep, is the best we can hope for, but that’s far too good for someone like me.

I’ve fought so hard, throughout my life, to do the right thing and I can tell you now… you won’t ever get anywhere if you do. Sure, you’ll stay safe, reliable, honest and even say that you’re a good person, but that’s not life. Who wants safe? You have to take chances.

I wished that I’d listened more. Even if the choice would rip you in two and hurt so much. Even if the sadness inside overwhelms until your mind spins. You have to embrace that decision. You can hold, you can grasp, you can beg and plead, but the choice has been made. It’s been the hardest thing in my life. Lonely. Being lonely. I’m now realising that none of us are meant to be on our own. It binds you, hurts ever part of you, yet to hold onto the fact that we have to be on our own, at times, is the lesson that can only be a beautiful thing.

I see so many unhappy people around me, clinging onto things or people that will never keep them warm. But who cares? We do what we do. We hold despite it all seeming wrong. The world can be a twisted, ugly, picture of art. Create your canvas, throw whatever you can at the design, then accept the imperfect image that you hold ever so close.

My life is done. I will miss you all. I love you all. I even needed you all, despite never asking for a thing. The burden of a person’s heart should be their own, unless they’re willing to find healing. I’m more or less healed. I’m proud of how far I’ve come. Despite still feeling numb most of the time.
It’s okay, as that’s the way of the world.


Henry closed his eyes, as he pressed the stop button. Done. Dusted. Over with. He pressed the home indicator, to then open his text messages. He typed a quick message, ‘check the recordings’, and then hovered his finger above the contacts button. He knew what was about to happen, the pause sending his mind crashing. He pressed the button, scrolling down the list, understanding that he had acquaintances, even friends, but not even one close personal confidant that he could call his own. His heart broke, the sadness rising, as he simply typed his own number and then pressed send.


Monday, 18 November 2019

Dust


Conner, focusing on the ground just in front him, stopped crying. Briefly, a small reprise, another solitary moment where his emotional stability tried to restrain his grief. He listened to the silence, the glorious seconds of nothing happening within his very world. His lips, shaking ever so slightly, as he felt the tear lines upon his face start to dry.


This was, in every single way, the realism of life that he could not escape. He’d prefer to smile, to hold a hand, but that was no longer possible. It never would be. Not from this point forward. He’d shout at the angels, the stars themselves, even the sun shining through the window, but instead he held onto the silence. He’d heard the news, knew it was coming, but still he curled himself into a ball and cried. The world wasn’t ending as, instead, it actually had ended. He knew that there were life ending moments, seconds, where the very breath within a person’s lungs faltered and even failed. This, instead, was pure, encompassing, emotional loss.

The thoughts started to return, his eyes once again filling with tears, as he held that face within his mind’s view. Time waited for neither man, woman, beast or actions. He’d lost that time, whatever the moments might have been, with neither rhyme or any reason bringing that time again. Another tear slowly, gently, escaped from his heart filled eyes. He’d give anything, even his own life, to simply turn the hands of time back an hour. A day. A year. Maybe even to start again from the very start but that, as he knew, would never happen.

His thoughts taunted him, reminding him of so many words, so many moments, or when and where he could have done so much more. Afraid, the turmoil within neither wishing to torture, of free, his very vacant soul. Lost, falling, whilst firmly pressed against the floor upon which he rested. He knew that he had to stand, once again, at some point. Life would move forward with, or without, his presence being felt.

He heard the words, the many moments of advice that had fallen to the side of whatever he was thinking at the time, over and over again. He was supposed to be wise, a thoughtful person, a faithful individual, with all the inherited family weaknesses. The love he held within his heart, ensured that he could easily be hurt. The honesty within his thoughts, ensured that he could be tricked, and his compassion for others, concluded that he would be used and thrown away many, many times. On the other hand, with such a beautiful smile, he’d been shown that those weaknesses could be the most enduring strengths imaginable.

He knew his weaknesses as they, right at this moment, resounded within his very mind. He’d promised, said the words upon the day when he knew what was coming, which meant that he had to face the world standing tall. Even if broken, even if he had to drag himself from this very room, tears and dust upon his very fingers, he would do so. He would climb, scrape, beg his soul for the very energy needed, whilst bartering pieces of his very heart for the required strength.

He was, at this very second, alone within his very small world. The walls, surrounding him, closing in upon his mind, threatened to remove his very sanity. The tears continued, for another few seconds, before he made the decision to stand. Finally. Pushing aside his thoughts, he lifted his arm from the floor, pressing his hand against the surface to push his upper body upwards. His other hand, now assisting, as he picked himself up. His weary legs, obeying the call to action, stood with him as his eyes winced at the sunlight hitting his view. He coughed a few times, whilst wiping away the tear lines with both hands.

He’d cried enough, for today, for this moment. He knew that there would be time for more tears, to release, to obey his need for anguish and pain. Right now, this second, he had a task to do. He had to accomplish, to succeed, to drag himself through the rest of his life with, or without, a person standing beside him or around him. He would falter, maybe even fail completely, but that would mean re-evaluating whatever path he was upon. No tears, no fear, no pain, no loss or deep inner turmoil, could stop such a thing, such a moment. This was life, his life, the same life and pain that the many feared and felt. This was, until the very day he turned to dust, his chance to make his loved ones proud.

Tuesday, 12 November 2019

Comfort


He knew exactly what he was doing, every single second, each moment, defined and refined for one purpose alone. In ways, he couldn’t help himself as this was his thing, his vice, his way of appreciating the person and moment that was sat just in front of him. He didn’t have years, months, or even weeks, as each day was the most important day within his current, frail life. He’d live forever, if he could, if the following few hours could be revisited again and again.


He’d laugh, maybe even feel a little stupid, but he absolutely, completely, above most things in life, adored long hair. His friends and colleagues laughed at him, often. His ways of doing things, of seeing the world, feeling ever so alien to them. Maybe he was just that, an alien, of sorts, segregated from the standard way of thinking but, as he knew, that wasn’t really the case. People liked what they liked, adored and appreciated what they wanted, with most simply just continuing the day to day.

It mattered not, his thoughts of other moments, as the current situation required thought and attention. He listened to her, talking, speaking the words that she found within her gloriously beautiful mind. He could listen to her for hours, non-stop, with only a small interjection that proved he was still with her. Listening. Understanding. Appreciating. Everyone deserved to be heard as, with all things, respect was born and nurtured through such moments.

He heard her voice falter, even slow, as his fingers worked their way through her hair. Caressing, moving, adoring the very nature of the warmth escaping from around her. She continued to speak, even though he knew that his soft strong fingers, caressing her head, would relax her in such a way that she’d appreciate. He knew that everyone talked, with most having so much to say, but once we lowered our guard, the real soul of a person could be found and held that bit closer. He wanted her to relax, to feel secured, knowing that he would never, ever, harm or hold anything against her.

Such a simple, small, tender gesture and moment. Her words softened, as he continued to massage her head, his fingers ever so often breaking away to brush her hair into line. This, this place right here, was a place that he wished to visit each of the days permitted by the rising sun. He was, in all intentions, a soft idiotic soul that walked upon the world. He meant no harm, wished only to heal, yet seemed to be vastly miss-understood and manipulated by many. He smiled, knowing that he was far from innocent, despite his heart wishing to remain as such.

He could feel her body release tension, her shoulders lowering that extra few millimetres, as the harsh working week releasing its grip. The music, playing in the background, seemed to melt away as they connected to a level that bridged the gap between them. This place, the obvious trust between two people, becoming a finally realised circumstance.

His fingertips continued to find the rhythm that made sense to his thoughts. Each caress, each second, created with the intention of pleasing her. He’d admit it, to her and no-one else, that this was his very notion of happiness. He adored beauty, in all forms, in all of the glorious ways that the universe displayed them. He could find something beautiful within most people and this, of course, led to his naivety. Although he wished otherwise, he knew that this would never be the case. He pushed aside such thoughts, returning to the present moment, as well as the person sitting in front of him.

She was, in all descriptions of the word, beautiful. Her voice, her conduct, the way she moved, the moments where she tried to remain humble upon hearing his compliments, were all comforting. He knew that every single person had their weak moments, as well as strife, but he could easily look beyond those as he himself had fallen from the highest pillars, as well as the tallest pedestals. He was, in every descriptive measure, the very essence of imperfect. He could, of course, turn the word upon its head and state, transcribe, scream from the tallest building, that being an imperfect creature meant that each person was an individual. The imperfections of life, of words, of actions, made each person beautiful. A work of individualistic art. A masterpiece of flaws. The scars, etched into each section of skin, forming the very wealth of knowledge and understanding.

He, once again, pushed aside his fantastical thinking to, instead, concentrate on what fascinated him far too much. Her gloriously, long, shimmering, flowing hair. He, occasionally, gently caressed her forehead, trying to release tension from as much of her mind as possible. This was a moment of moments, a place that everyone should visit, a singular, solitary, beautiful embrace of comfort.



Wednesday, 6 November 2019

Payback


Danny picked up the sword, dancing as she did, only to quickly slash the approaching individual. She loved this song. Adored the chorus, the beat, the way the lyrics formed the emotions within her mind. It was, to her, the perfect upbeat rhythm for doing what she loved most of all. She loved to hurt people, really, really hurt them, if they deserved to be hurt.


At an early age her sense of justice, of fair play, seemed to be ingrained within her very soul. Live, or let live, being her general stance of the moments that appeared. Until, that is, someone did something wrong. Her parents used to be wary of her swift justice, even as a small child, whilst also laughing out of ear shot as they, honestly, agreed. You could push most people, again and again, until they eventually pushed back or flailed around. Usually, people just soaked up the nasty side of life, but not her, not Danny.

This latest debacle, the current hack and slash of things, arose from the local bad people doing what they did. The rule, crafted a few years previous, was that they’d leave her alone if, of course, she’d stop killing them. Sure, truthfully it worked for a while, until they hurt someone that she cared for. There was no justice swift enough, no court within the land that would pacify what they’d done, with the trial, decision and comeuppance becoming immediately due.

Here she was, there they were, in front of the person she wanted to have a word with. Once again, her hips swayed, side to side, with the ever-increasing beat matching her own beating heart. The words, embracing her, connecting to her, entrancing the next sword movement. She loved weapons. Large, small, secret or in your very face, they all did what she wanted them to do. Hurt. Give pain. Teach a lesson with no words involved.

She smiled, as another fell away to her side. She, thankfully, couldn’t hear their agony filled screams, due to the expensive over ear headphones cancelling the external ambience. She raised her arm, hand in the arm, moving side to side with the vibrant music pumping in her ears. This, to her, was so much fun. Ideally, she’d prefer to be dancing in her bedroom, or front room, or any room, with this place being the second prize in a raffle of locations. It didn’t matter, as she was having fun either way.

She was the daughter of a long-forgotten family of stoic thinkers, the reasonable few, that strangely thought about how to inflict pain upon a person that deserved such things. Growing up, it proved useful, whilst also learning self-control. She’d had her wings clipped, a few times, by her Father as well as Mother, which taught her control as well as respect. The balance, of all things, within all situations, filling her thoughts with a defined and unique perspective of the world. She could see the corners, the rooms filled with lies, the expressions that lacked detail, as well as the hidden motives behind most souls.

It mattered not, as the long blade once again cut the truth into another individual. She wasn’t damaging them that much, only a little, just enough to remove them from the game being played. The song neared its end, as she stood in front of him, the transgressor, the perpetrator of the physical deed that hurt her friend. She swung the sword around and around, the professional at play, the perfect balance of the sword being used to her advantage. The silence appeared, as she slid the headphones away from her ears, to rest around her neck. He sat there, defiant, reliant on his status to protect him, knowing the implications of what he’d done.

She smiled, as her head ever so slightly moved to the left as her thoughts rampaged through her mind. She didn’t wish to remove the head from a snake that could be replaced by an even bigger snake, but punishment for actions had to take place and, right now, her mind was concocting so many beautiful, dreamy, playful ways to teach him a lesson.  She leaned forward, her face inches away from his, as she felt his fear start to rise, “Now… let’s talk about that Halloween payback!”



Saturday, 2 November 2019

Mystery


There’s a mystery, within this very world of ours. It’s neither a rhyme but maybe a reason, or even a small amount of treason, if you’d see the thoughts I’m thinking. There’s a mystery that I really, really wish to solve and maybe, just maybe, it’ll take every ounce of emotion that I can find.


There was a single, solitary day, when the weather outside literally roared its disapproval for all things. Heavy rain, vicious winds, the blackest storms and more. We were all hiding, within our places of rest, whilst I and others were simply being who we were. From nowhere you arrived, from the darkness outside, with but a view of your smile changing my thoughts forever.

Okay, stop, I know, I’m heading towards a place where you’d shake your head and start to laugh. Let me have these words, this moment, as this is part of who and whom I am. It’s that mystery, that holds my gaze. It’s the thoughts of how you are, that keep me interested. Riddle me a poem, or rhyme me a reason, and I’ll keep on looking in your direction.

There’s a certain order to all things, the statistical variances being that thin line between everyone, all of us, then you. You’re that variance, the even number out of all the people trying to be odd. You’re fitting in, without even trying. You’re holding my hand, even when you’re standing across the room. You’re whispering in my ear, the rudest most absurd thoughts, with the smallest of smiles in the corner of my eye.

I’m on that edge of forever, standing upon the precipice of life, wishing to only jump if that’s what you desire. Tell me a story and I’ll be captivated by those small little things you do. The way your lip curls, the phrases you use, all that individuality wrapped up within a soul of ages. This is what it’s all about. Staying young of mind, making each other laugh, kiss, smile and simply, easily, just being with each other.

This is life, our lives, the daily outcome being just as mysterious as the next. We live with boredom, we seldom feel excited or enthused with fire, but that’s why we’re here. We’re so caught within specified boundaries, constrained, confined, but ever so willing to become more.

The freedom we perceive is seldom as such. The walls and lines, all around, provide bonds and often removes balance from our lives. It’s us against them, it’s the left against the right, or whatever seems fitting within this weekly filled news. None of that matters, as that’s not a mystery at all. It’s you and I, embracing the world together for as long as we possibly can.

I’m never going to ground a spirit as free as yours. You’re meant to fly, to scramble, to find the highest mountain top and fly. Spreading your wings as far as the eye can see before you soar around the moon. I know that my words are fantastical, but that’s the adventure you bring out from my weary eyes. I’ve seen so much, heard as much, with the silence you bring being the most effortless magic I’ve ever found.

This lifetime, the place we’re heading, is made so much more when we’re taking each other along for the ride. To me, to my heart, soul and lips, you’re that mystery that I’ve always wished for. I never want to figure you out, as that, to my lightened heart, would simply never do. I need that mystery