Evening

He stood, once again, beside the bedroom window, preparing himself. He’d spent years attempting to grasp his emotional range, to find that golden, illusive, emotional intelligence that everyone seemed to talk about. At this second, instead of finding anything, he simply wished to feel something. Anything. Even a spark. Even a remote change that permitted some type of passion to fire within him. However, he knew why he was here and the rest would become history.

He sipped a little vodka and lime from the glass, removing any edge that sometimes seemed to find its way into his system. Ideally, he didn’t need it, but preferred to take part in the same ritual each and every single time. His thing. His moment. His choices and above all, choices contained consequences. Thoughts turned into feelings and feelings into... whatever they became.

He looked at the glass, its neutral texture, wishing that life would somehow contain something more. It did, but the more was not the more that he actually desired. He would contest that life knew what it was doing. He would argue that his life was actually a fruitful life, but life would always become the life we decided it to be. No drama, no excuses, no deferred blame for all of his choices. He was here for a reason and that reason was to simply, evocatively, please. He’d tried to be the good guy, as well as the womanizer. He’d tried being honest and sincere, but those contradictions lead to near destruction. Fate, decisions and action, brought him to this very present path.

He moved the glass, swirling the content, preparing himself for the next few hours. He felt nothing. Numb. Vacant. An autonomous spectre that simply longed for some form of connection. He’d smile, but he was preparing his mood. Enabling the mask. Clearing his mind for the other side of him to appear.

He blinked a few times, placing the glass down onto the windowsill, finally ready to entertain, to do what he was paid to do. The presentation, the act, the performance, all a lie and as vacuous as space itself. He could be anything, as long as he did not care and that fact, was a dramatically endured shame.

He walked across the hotel room, opening the two large bedroom doors, taking in the view and spectacle in front of him. She was obviously attractive, intelligent, the kind of woman that didn’t require or sensibly need his attention or service. However, times changed many a person’s outlook on how things should be done.

She smiled an expectant smile. Knowing. Ready. Mentally and physically, unified after a day of teasing, temptation, thoroughly veraciously insatiable conversations and more. It was one thing to turn a woman on, but it was another to bring her mind and thoughts fully into the arena.

She sat calmly, on the edge of the bed, thoroughly entranced by the actions of the day. He was, in all aspects, a gentleman. It sounded odd to her, using that word, but it was true. The way he moved, the way he talked and did the simple, easy things that most men seemed to ignore or just plainly forget. Then, once the mildly playful conversation was over with, he’d move to her ear and whisper such delights that even Satan himself would blush. He’d described the both of them in almost every delightful way possible. He had a knack of pushing images, places, situations and explorations into her imagination. It was almost as if he had taken her thoughts, her insecurities, her delusions and illusions, and replaced them with absolute fantasies.

She’d initially found it all quite playful, almost innocent, until, all at once, she found that he really was inside of her mind. He ‘knew’ her or, should she say, had empathy for her life, her issues, her insecurities and everything she hid away in a small little coloured box within her mind. Needless to say, once her thoughts calmed, as well as a few glasses of wine, she found that she couldn’t keep her eyes off him.

Those eyes, his shoulders, all calling for her to make bad, awful, terrible decisions in the best possible way. At one point, on their return to the hotel, she could have just straddled him and taken him right there and then. He, instead, looked at her, almost reading her thoughts. Then, slow kisses. Deep. Smooching, even, as he pulled her close. The intoxication of desire, the need for him to press himself against her, blanking her mind as her lips felt the warm breath of her ever-increasing need.

She’d done what he’d asked, put on the mask, reducing one of her senses, as the others seemed to dance around her expectations. She knew, that he would tease, tempt and seduce before anything serious, just as he did when they’d played the colour game. He could be impulsive, immediate at times, but that was all part of the fun. The unexpected. Wondering when. Thinking of how. Feeling whatever he wished her to feel.

It felt freeing, all of this. An escape. A reprieve. The swan song before her normal life returned. She’d grown sick of relationship churning, the off and on again. The never or forever circular bullshit that she’d found herself within. Instead, she’d taken control, dialled the number and so far, not regretted one single second. Today, a walk along a seaside town, a lunch. Tomorrow, a train journey to some unknown location.

All at once, without even a hint, she could feel him somehow, right in front of her, as she felt his hands, one on each knee, slowly part her legs. She wanted to giggle slightly, her nerves showing through, but the excitement gripped her far too tightly to allow that. She’d done so much with her life and yet, the same meal presented in a different fashion meant more than people realised. He was interesting. He was polite and yet, through his beautifully coloured eyes, she could see the devil within him asking to be let loose.

His hands moved down her legs, as he removed her high heels. There would be no need for them in this scenario, as far as she knew. He’d complimented her, deftly, not obviously, many times and yet, she could bathe around him for days, weeks, hours or even just for a moment. He’d found something within her and, if she were being honest with herself, something that she didn’t even know existed. The expert, meeting the apprentice, both presenting stories and scars aplenty. Mental, physical, furthermore and more and more.

His hands moved up her legs, finding her waist, under her summer dress. As his hands found her lingerie, he softly kissed her neck as she moved her head ever so slightly, giving him more of a view. He’d stated that he liked a woman’s legs, neck, hair and, of course, the obvious permutations of her physique. The woman to a man. The natural order to the chaos that unfolded whenever the door closed, or when they were alone together.

The kisses deepened, as she lifted herself, freeing her lingerie as she felt it move down and away from her body. He lifted the back of her dress, as her rear returned to the bed and then, he found her lips with his, as she felt his warm exhalations against her cheek.

 She needed to be kissed. Not your average, kissing of kisses, but kisses that made her feel something. Anything. Not too much, but just enough, to know that there’s something there. His lips moved over hers, as they both calmly, slowly, felt the growing sensations. His hands, moving slowly up her back, running the tips of his fingers along her skin, simply drove her mind into swirling chemical cocktails of need.

After a day of flirting, teasing, hearing and imagining all the ways and things he would do to her, she’d literally reached the edge of insanity. She wasn’t permitted to lose control, unless he said she could. She wouldn’t act, unless he allowed it to take place. Calm, measured, designed, designated passion. It wasn’t lust, it wasn’t foreplay, it was desire, longing, slightly wanton, malevolent, restrictive control and she loved every single second.

His hands, finally giving in to temptation, found their way to the front of her dress. No bra, instant availability of her most praised assets, aiming to please. A fingertip upon each breast moved ever so slowly over her, expressing their need to induce a reaction, which immediately took place. She moved her mouth away from his, exhaling deeper, knowing that he knew that they would be extra sensitive. A mild weakness, exploited for their multiple satisfaction.

He pressed his lips to hers, harder this time, knowing that she was losing any grip of sanity left within the room. Heavy, thirst filled, knowing kisses, as the tips of his fingers continued teasing in the most perfect way possible. The pressure, the need, increasing to the point where she wanted to give away her calm.

He stopped kissing, as his hands removed themselves. If he could see her eyes, she’d look mildly confused, as her body continued to increase the pressure within. A few seconds escaped and then, finally, she felt him, pressing something against her, between her legs. The sides, soft, smooth, the top being some other texture. She smiled quickly, as her mouth opened to the growing sensation of feeling the movements below. Ever so gently, he pressed the cylindrical device against her, not too much, just enough, to be enough. Once again, his lips return to hers, as their tongues met between moments. Her hands moved back, steadying her, as the intensity began. She wanted him, would absolutely have him inside her at this very moment, but this was all part of the ongoing flutter. The game. The play. The expectations of lure and fallacy.

The kisses grew with intensity, as she stayed almost frozen, the need for concentration falling away to the feeling. Almost overwhelming. A few more seconds, maybe a minute, she no longer knew, as she grasped at the pleasure, not wishing for it to fade away. Frozen, the tingles, the confidence within assuring her of the outcome.

Over and over again, she could feel the pressure rise to its pinnacle, almost painfully expressive, the euphoria surrounding her as, a few more seconds, the burden and pleasure released itself.

All at once, her mind cleared, no thoughts, nothing, losing herself in the very moment. Her fingers grasped the bed, as her body stirred. She moved forward, wrapping herself around him, wanting to scratch, bite, envelop him as her body convulsed, almost paralyzed, as she felt the pulsing pleasure. Slowly, calmly, as the feeling declined, she kissed him, quickly, slowly, softly, whichever way she could, not quite knowing what she was doing.

She ripped off the mask, grabbing his jaw with his hand, looking into those eyes of his, as she moved her pelvis over him, not wanting the feeling to fade, but knowing that it would. He smiled, they both smiled, as he stood with his arms wrapped around her.

“I don’t think we’re quite done here just yet, do you?” he asked.

She shook her head, as she gave him the deepest kiss she could find, knowing what was about to take place the rest of the evening.

Legion

Daniel, sitting on the old bedside cabinet that belonged to his great, great grandfather, exhaled ever so softly as he looked through the old stained wooden window. He was, once again, in the great old loft of treasures. His childhood, the toys, the hide and seek, all there around him. So many memories, so many thoughts and with those thoughts, emotion.

In his hand, rested a small plaque that his family, as well as his own Father, adored. He’d read it a hundred times. Maybe, even, a thousand. Each time he’d arrived home from School, then University, it had sat just across from the back door. Like a whispering memory, the words haunted him with understanding, appreciation and so much more.

He smiled, as his gaze moved over the old granny smith apple tree just by the front gate. He closed his eyes, recalling, reminiscing the many, many thoughts. As his eyes opened, he looked at the plaque, reading the words one more time.

‘My name is Legion, for we are many’.

Despite loving the words, he deeply adored the meaning or, as far as he knew, the possible meaning. As a child, he’d been the one to run outside at every single opportunity, to bounce around, to play, to explore and yet, he’d also simply wished to understand everything. His ever-young heart, grasping at all and any opportunity to experience the wealth of wonders around every single corner.

He recalled his father, upon a random sun filled day, offering advice. “Danny, your mind will often be confused, directed, pulled, in different directions!” said his father, often with a glorious, little, odd smile across his face. His father loved the fancy tales of intrigue, fancying himself somewhat of a psychologist. He was a good man, a kind man, as well as a valuable role model.

He’d say, “Your fear will say many words, scold, you, hold you in place or ask you to run!”, followed by, “your faith will guide you, push you and make you explore and yet, many of your habits will keep you stuck, never to change, never to learn, never to become something more than you are at that point in time!”

He’d pondered the words. He’d scribed them a fair few times, upon many pages of work and then, just then, he’d finally reached something of a conclusion all those years previous. Each memory, each moment of his, created a flow of thought. Many, many thoughts. Over and over again. A legion, of sorts. Thoughts of faith, thoughts of habit and, of course, the thoughts of fear. Overwhelming, chastising, the habitual circular notions to feed an ego. Scattered, confused, the complete lack of focus clouding his moments.

He’d struggled through the years, seconds of doubt, tears of habit, but his thoughts still arrived back to that plaque. He could say that each thought was that of a shepherd, attending to his flock of thoughts, one after another and as long as he seldom allowed a member of his flock to run astray, he would stay strong, stoic, defined, refined and steady. That legion of thought, the hundreds, the thousands per day, all working, pushing, fighting, fending and offending the brief seconds of life they encompassed.

This was why the plaque held emotion. This was why, despite selling the house, his old home, the memories remained within him. Once he’d finally realised the message and meaning of the words, his life changed ever so slightly. He could let the thoughts float within his mind, removing their power, their emotion or, when needed, allow his passion and heart to feel every single second. With thought arrived strength or, destruction. His army, the legion of thought.

He returned his view to the plaque and, once again, read the words.

‘My name is Legion, for we are many’.

Frisson

She felt the dopamine, the aesthetic endeavours immediately informing her emotional intelligence that she was ready, willing, more than able and most certainly, aware. Her violation of expectation momentarily peaking as, he, him, that person who had changed quite a few moments within her life, did what he often did.

The music played all around, loud, but not too loud as to take anything away from any of her other senses. He’d found the tones, the audible sensation that set her body, as well as mind, into a calm, knowing sense of expectation. It was one thing to embrace her body, but another to think of more than just a moment’s indulgence. That, of course, was nice, but this… this, was something else. She smiled, as she placed her head onto the chair’s soft, comfortable covering. Her skin was already dancing with anticipation, the expectant notions swirling and whirling within.

The cushions surrounded her, comforted her body, as she felt the soft textures press gently against her skin. This place, this scene, the moments he’d subjected her to, were something to remember and recall. It wasn’t often that she’d meet someone so attentive and yet, it wasn’t about the act, but the art and performance behind his actions. Words meant nothing without the actions to empower them.

The room, warm, comforting, the lights turned all the way down with the faint scent of cinnamon rising around her, seemingly holding her close. There was a soft, calming sense to him and, as she knew, he brought that calm with him wherever they went. He was ‘for’ her, thinking of her, actually considering her needs which was a rare element.

He was also, unexpectedly, quite quiet. Charming. Aloof. Imaginative. Additional, most of all, delightfully physically toned as to peek her roaming subconscious. She was aware of her actions, to a point, as well as the nature of her own thoughts, desires, needs and most certainly, what she wanted. Almost, to a point, selfish in her endeavours for the pleasure of the soul. She’d been to some of there, had a slice of that, but as she’d just thought, this was it. The all or nothing, ever again. The sublime to the settling. The now and always forever type of connection.

She stopped her thoughts, slowing time, as well as her breathing as she sensed him. She wasn’t permitted to look. She wasn’t asked to speak, as right at this moment, it was all about feeling. The music, the notes, flowing over her as her expectations grew. He was always so unexpected, so very random and yet, mostly ignored in many ways. She couldn’t place her thoughts, as to why he was, and why he did what he did. He was a mystery, a quandary, a knowing that might never actually be understood.

She felt the hairs on her arms move as his fingertips found the outer side of her legs. She smiled another small, delicious, knowing, expectant smile, as he moved his fingers slowly up her legs. Just enough pressure, that little knowing touch, to stimulate her thoughts. He moved up and around, gently, running along her inner thigh and back out to the sides of her stomach. His touch, preparing her body, informing her senses, telling them to prepare for what would evidently happen.

He moved his fingers between her breasts, finding the sides of her neck, around her ear, until he massaged her head for a few seconds. She loved to be touched, as the music once again tempted her senses, the coiled spring within her tightening ever so slightly. His touch returned to her skin, moving along the outer side of her arms and then, as he returned to her sternum, she felt his lips upon hers. She kissed him, softly, tenderly, her body responding thoroughly. Her energy, rising, as her calmly beating heart found rhythm with her breath. His lips left hers, wanting, needing a little more. His touch moved around her breasts once again, the underside enjoying the warmth and movement, as he finally, knowingly, moved his attention to where she needed it most of all. He’d been teasing her for over twenty minutes and, despite eagerly wanting to rush ahead, she’d finally learned to appreciate the attentive nature of time.

He called all of this frisson. She’d forgotten the science stuff, lost within the implementation and practical implications of said word. His touch moved downward, exploring. The thoughts fell, immediately, as he pressed his lips to hers, his fingertips finding the underside of her legs. With ease, he swirled his touch around her lips, not too much, just enough for her body to tense ever so slightly at the sensation. The music, his touch, his lips and more importantly, his tongue, fed her body dopamine and in a few moments, that beautiful oxytocin would arrive.

He teased, swirling his random lips and tongue around her, not willing to start the inevitable dance towards that release of so much tension. The week, the moments, the utter grind of living, all let go within seconds. She wanted to put her hands onto his head, but she knew that she wasn’t permitted to do so. She would stay in place, confined to comfort.

He continued, placing his lower lip over her, just enough, just that little bit of pressure and pleasure for her legs to tighten. It was a little too much for her, but not enough for anything to stop. He moved his lip, over and over again, his tongue finding her, ever so often as to tease. She could feel the energy building, rising within her, the waves pushing her closer.

A few more seconds, his lips moving, flowing over her, her body finally convulsing as every ounce of tension and pleasure let go. She pressed her legs against his head, her hands finally allowed to move, pressing his head and lips harder onto her, as he back arched and gave in to the moment. She laughed, smiled, giggling to herself at the pleasure. Moving her hips, as he pressed his tongue against her, she moved up and down ever so slightly as the sensations continued until, at last, she could take no more.

Her body relaxed, her breath shallowing, as her mind started to spin with delight. She didn’t really care how, or why, as long as he continued doing exactly what he was doing. Surprising her, enticing her, pleasing and pleasuring her, with that thing he called frisson.

Tryst

No. Not again. Despite the inevitability of the select moments within our lives, often, frequently, there are moments that cannot be escaped. You can run. You could lie. You might object but, when all the procrastination has ended, you’re left with inevitability.

He placed his hand against the desk, remaining stable, as his mind flashed previous events into his viewable day. He had many thoughts. Private thoughts, moments, seconds, where his consciousness seemingly escaped into another reality. Sure, previous memories were often experienced by nearly every single person, but this was different. To him, at least. He’d expire every single one of them but, deep down within his very soul, he simply did not wish to do so.

He smiled, for a brief second, allowing his desire to overcome his thoughts. There they were, his emotions. Brief, inescapable, often speaking words that could only be felt. The clock, ticking against the wall, counted the seconds before the rendezvous. Private, romantic, close, expressive, communicative, as well as intently passionate. They had everything, but each other’s complex foibles. Neither would admit to what they had, what they were doing, let alone if the chance of it moving somewhere was even afforded to either of them.

He, simply, easily, complicitly, endured the possibility of losing himself completely. Friends, worried for his very mind, provided unsolicited advice. Colleagues ventured the same stories. He did not care. At all. Not even for a second. To feel, to fathom the depths of one’s emotions, meant the world to him. He shared with her, he opened his very soul, within private.

There was romance. They were lovers, they were a ‘thing’, as people often mentioned or, as they stated lately, they were within a ‘situationship’.  Their words did not, could not, convey anything about what was being experienced. People also said that to never feel anything, would be but a sin within the mortal realms. He was mortal and, thankfully, he felt everything. Her lips, her thoughts made real, her expressive smile, the way she moved and, most of all, he felt her words resounding within the echo chambers of his very soul.

She moved with such grace and, despite being a tentative subject, gracious femininity. She was intelligent, connective, not afraid to express her needs and, thankfully, she side stepped the passive aggressive nature of so many people within the world. She was, to think of more words, her own being.

He removed his hand from the table, running it over his face, removing the fatigue from his thoughtful expression.  Another moment, another smile. She was private, yet open to him. She was romantic and yet, a closed book to people around her. They were lovers and furthermore, they were friends when the door opened, and the world asked them to visit.

The lovers. The willing entrapment of two hearts wishing and wanting there to be more. Despite the risk, regardless of the future, two people simply had to take the possible chance of something, or anything, working out right. This is why he’d planned the secret little destinations. The meeting of two people that adored the surprises of life and location.  Private, passionate, kisses amongst the stars and under the hidden trees.  A hundred places, a thousand thoughts. A thousand thoughts, amongst the many kisses.

He flicked the pages of the dictionary, that was sat upon the table to his left. A reminder, a recourse. A potion of passion and a thought for a moment. He loved her and she, oh yes she, loved him with such a passion that it could only be expressed by the pure and poignant explanation of a word. The pages slowed and, finally, he reached the correct word to describe their very situation and emotions,

‘Tryst: a private romantic rendezvous between lovers: keep a private, romantic rendezvous with a lover’

Another moment, another smile, another second before she arrived. If anything, despite a million words being afforded to him, he was beyond happy with the small, simple, romantically enticing word, tryst.

Who

If you could, should or would, please open your social media account. Any will do. Have a quick look at your friends list, scroll down, slowly, taking in all the faces and names. How many do you know, really know or, in fact, ‘think’ that you know.

The world isn’t simply black with the white appearing ever so often, it’s multiple shades of so many colours and, as I’ve read, many other colours that we might never, ever, realise. This, of course, is the same with people. Take a selection of people, from that glorious list of names. Think of them. Recall them. Smile, as you remember moments, words, within sections of time. They’ve touched your emotions, they might have even held your hand or, let you go. Overall, we probably all know many, many different individuals.

Alternatively, do we? There are people that I haven’t seen or, even, spoken with in years. There’s many that I’ve never spoken with, which of course, is a shame. I’m a friendly person, but am I?  You see, each person on your list of friends sees you in a different light. They see you as a different person.

You, yourself, the I, the I am, believes that you’re a certain person. You might believe that you’re liked, loved, missed and never forgotten. You could appreciate the energies that you expel and bring into your world. You’re magnificent, you’re lost, you’re heartbroken, your emotions finally finding the stability you desired for the longest of time. You are, just as you are. The moment captured, immortalised, held within your consciousness. Hopefully, you know who you are.

Your ego, amongst many other facets, believes that you are the x and y of the world. Each friend, however, within your list, believes that you are something else. Each person we know, or have known, has an impression of ‘us’, within them. To one person, we’re the joker, the smiler, the miserable heartbreaker, the complainer, the yo-yoing person, the idiot, the cheater, the looser, the mischief maker and more. Those impressions, albeit often incorrect, are held like a polaroid picture taken years previous.

Once again, it matters not if you’ve achieved, expanded your knowledge, healed, or regretted and come to terms with previous malicious actions. It’s not recalled that you’ve adapted, succeeded or, even, become a brand-new person via adversity, trauma, pain and near life ending situations. You are, in essence, many hundred plus individuals within one body.

Although the histories of life proclaim that we’re all connected, all a central consciousness of abundance, we, instead, rely upon the simple, easy, miss-informed logical sense that a person is whom you think they are. Your Mother, your Sister, your partner and your neighbour, all see you as a different individual, despite actually being one solo person. Someone can form an opinion about you and, if they never ask, will keep that opinion despite it being completely, unequally, untrue.

How, upon any singular day, can someone, anyone, truly comprehend the complexity of any individual? We view a person as a book, the cover of colour and shallow substance, with the synopsis being all we need to define and decide upon our evermore imagined impression. No matter the effort, the delusion we decide to present to the world’s individuals, we will always be seen as someone else, other than who we really are. It makes a mockery of any attempt to seem nice, polite, or understanding, as there’s always the possibility of being miss-understood and fractioned into many, many alternative labels.

At this point, you might be thinking, “Well, yes, that’s pretty obvious!”  You’d be correct. However, we seldom think such thoughts. We’re sometimes occupied, attempting to be something that we’re not. We’re thinking, feeling, hurting, healing entities wrapped within a suit of meat, water and space. The outside is, frankly, a limited view of the universe with the inside, that glorious ball of energy called a soul/consciousness, being everything. Sure, it’s lovely to have the car, the house, the clothes and the importance of having a hundred people love us to bits, but the real conclusion, the actual truth, would be that hardly anyone thinks of us and if they do, their thoughts and impressions are more than likely incorrect depending on time. Alternatively, they could see you for exactly what you are.

The snapshots we take, the moments we make, when imagining another, are incredibly limited. A life can be static one week and then, the next, every single part of that life could change, forming a brand-new person. The safest path within the world is staying the same. The same day, the same routine, the same people, the same kisses and, the same harsh memories grinding us to dust. Slowly. That, as we know, is also incredibly boring. Personally, the only opinion that matters, when it concerns who ‘you’ are, is your own. You can change, you can grow, you can learn, and you can become something… more, than you are. I believe in all of you, in everyone. However, I also appreciate that my belief means little to the many and something, to the few. Realistically, we’re hardly thought of at all and even then, it’ll be the same picture formed in time.

Upon a day, maybe ‘never’ ask another ‘who’ you are, as they probably won’t know. If you, as an individual, cannot answer the question of ‘who’ you are, then heaven help you, if you consider the impressions and opinions of another. After all, the only person that really, truly, knows you, is you, and even then, many hardly ever even consider the very question of, “Who am I?”

Glass

Upon a day, be it planned or not, each of us is born into the world kicking, screaming, crying or in silence. We learn, we adapt, we adopt the way of things and grow forward whilst spending so much time looking back. We become something, the other, what we are, and can even envision what we’ll be. We follow the trends, to be liked, to be seen, even though we will always be individuals. We are often followers, that wish to be followed.

Then, upon another day, we start to rise within the world. We form pedestals to stand upon but in this case, I’d like to suggest that we form glass platforms.  Upon these platforms of formed glass, we stand tall. We look across the world, our world, like bastions of pure invincibility and grandeur. We know all, we supposedly see all, proud and stoic. We are, amongst many offered names, the wide-eyed, mostly happy, beings of faith, hope, love and most certainly, ego.

Another platform forms, be it a new job, a new partner, a new set of adventures and more. Whatever our egos decide to place value around, we can stand upon. Fierce, fire filled eyes, the very energy within slashing out into the void without a care in the world. We are, supposedly, everything.

Upon another day, something happens. The new relationship fails, two egos clashing, unable to find a balance and the abundance faulters, fails, and you’re cast aside. You fall. For the very first time, you fall so very, very hard. The glass platform beneath your feet, the sturdy construction formed from your egoic thoughts, feelings and soul enaction, cracks and splits. You fall. You fail. You land upon the platform directly below.

You clamber, you grasp, you grab at any platform that you can find. Friends, family, social media, as the moments within your mind threaten to break the very body that holds you so close within. You, eventually, find the platform that you desire, a place that feeds you, the ego energised once again. Be it another individual, another lover, your pedestal of glass confirmed, cemented, and anodised into your life. You save your ego, your emotions and, thankfully, can ignore the thoughts that chip away at your stability. You decide within, that you’d rather not face any of the consequences, actions or circumstance.

You’re stable, again. The cracks beneath your feet, ignored. The trembling within your heart, pushed aside. The memories held within the heart’s mind, ignored, despite the movies and plays repeating over and over again. So much to say, so much left unsaid. It’s all okay, it’s all perfectly fine, as you realise that if you smile long enough, you’ll believe all the lies you tell yourself when the darkness caresses you at night.

Another day, upon another moment, your Mother, your Father, your best friend, your loved acquaintance, leaves the world. The platform that you find yourself standing upon, once again, cracks and you tumble. Finally, truthfully, you reach the bottom of your world, and no further platforms support you. Your head hits the dirt, the realism of life, as your hands bear the cuts and bruises of your mind’s actions.

You look above, you lift your head, to see further glass bastions of hope, love and truth. You would reach, you would grasp, but deep inside, you realise that none of them truly, honesty, afford you rescue from the solitude you feel so very deep inside the depths of your very person. You are, alone. You are, abandoned. You are, nothing but your very thoughts. No action, no moment, can save you when the critically formed platforms of your life descend, crack, and wither away to dust.

Darkness appears, as you close your eyes, whispering, wishing, wondering, as you wipe away the tears from your outer skin. It’s only you, just you, in the darkness. This, this place, is the most vulnerable, lonely, vacant, exploratory space you can ever imagine. It’s real. It cannot be ignored. It’s all you have. It’s all you’ve ever had and ignored. No school teaches you of these moments.

You breath in, holding the breath, exhaling ever so slowly as you grasp the happenstance of the seconds. Yesterday haunts you, tomorrow is but a thought, with ‘now’ being the very essence of your escape. Your fingers dig into the dirt, as your senses smell the air around you. This is what you are, in the dark, within the silence. You realise, suddenly, that the world outside of you is but a mirror of your imagination. The platforms supporting you, previously, were all based on false notions.

You smile, you whisper further thoughts, as you attempt to stand. You abandon your earthly body as you, instead, simply imagine your two feet standing upon the world. You imagine the wealth, the very scale, of what you’d like to accomplish, and at that moment, the remaining platforms descend towards you. Some crack. Some break. Some vanish.

Finally, you open your eyes. Around you are friends, remaining family, acquaintances, and so much valuable energy. You embrace all of it and, at the same time, you let all of it go. You let it escape the meanings that you’ve assigned. You are renewed. For a moment, your ego asks you to step forward, to balance yourself upon a new platform of your making but, instead, you smile another smile as you realise, as you finally understand after so many years, that you simply no longer require any platforms to stand upon. Especially, platforms made of glass.

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If

If... the ‘what would be’ of the world. The unknown, the chance, the proposition of possibly something else. Do you, should you or, even, could you? Take the leap, make the chance a realistic wish and then, embrace whatever will be.

If... you decided to fall in love, with all the heart felt embraces, promises and beautiful chemicals, would you be ready for months of depression, solitude and weeks of self reflection if it fails? The fifty fifty of life never believes the early promises of a person, with another hope filled leap into the abyss.

If... you or I made a promise, would either person stand by that promise, through the thin, the very thick, along the ever changing 3d world? A promise is a promise is but a promise. We shall say the words, speak it, feel it, because then it’s real. Or is it?

If... you fell upon hard times, would you reach out to me, then remember how you treated others, my heart, your own feelings and more? The karma afforded by life, might only be our own thoughts within the cold lonely nights. The creature within is selfish but, upon a day, it can learn to be more. To do more.

If... you, I, we, allowed our ego to overwhelm and take the staring role within our lives, what type of person would we be? Maybe it would be too late, the implementation of such a state complete or, maybe, completely removed from within.

If... we built a home together, shared our dreams, communicated as Kings and Queens of the state, would a foundation be built that could last the tests of our time? We might hold childlike wounds within, allowing corruption, doubt and pain to sever the connection, or become stronger before the sun rises once again.

If... we communicated, each step of the way, expanding understanding, would that be an alien concept to two intelligent beings? The dictionary has thousands of words and yet, one word to break, heal, harm or help, all exist. Hardly ever spoken, never forgotten once it’s done, then exclaimed by a wounded consciousness.

If… one person found sustenance within the forms of change, understanding and self-education, would the universe care, blink or even notice? What would one person do, if they were dedicated to constantly improving, resolving the within for an improved outside. Some people listen, some people act but by then, by that point, the moment has moved away.

If… you traversed a mountain path, found the soul you were looking for, would you realise that it was within you all of this time? We seek, we ponder amongst the world’s venues and yet, we can find peace, prosperity, love, affection and warmth from one single source. Maybe it’s too late, maybe fashion, status and pomp is all that’s worthwhile within a life.

If… only if, we stop, stand still, close our eyes and inhale with thought and exhale with emotion. To feel, to think, at the exact same time, is but the magic of all ages or, do you believe in something else? Let’s ponder, let’s resolve, let’s find a suitable middle ground and maybe, just for a second maybe, we could all simply whisper… ‘if’.

 

Partially written 06.12.2022. 
Finished, today.