A selection of posts that didn't get finished or I didn't wish to generally post. Not proof read or corrected.
You see, to start, I’d like to apologise. I know that you’re not aware of what I’m about to apologise for, but in a way, I know that you do. We’re all aware, in our own way and worlds, so it’s about time that I let the world know the truth.
I’m me, always will be, almost wasn’t but that’s because I don’t mind changing; if it’s progressive positive change. That’s what it’s about. At all times. Mostly. I apologise, to you, personally and ethically, as I’m tempted by you. I know, I know, honesty can be alarming, refreshing, adopting and warming. It can also be very, very scary. Come on, admit it, the words are hardly a shock when you’re you and I’m the person called me.
How about you face some honesty within yourself, for a moment’s chance! Pass go, collect your pound of heart, go to my jail or simply land on a square. It’s your choice as, if we are being honest, it’s either all a game or something more. Serious, delirious, it doesn’t matter as this is what it’s all about. The world is full of people that may, or may not, like each other. To me it’s all about levels. You either get nothing, a charming smile and a conversation that I’d like to escape, some of me or, if you’re that three in a million, everything.
“All I’m saying is that you have to eventually give in to what you want!” Dez stood there, defiant, speaking to Sam who usually remained quiet at such times. Shaking his head, turning to grab the ammo behind him for his belt, Dez continued, “What are we doing out here? Breaking skulls, riding the wave of shear madness? For what? You tell me Sam. You tell me!”
Sam, placing the knife into his boot’s holster, thought about Dez’s words. He spoke the truth. No man was, as Dez said many times, an island. Self-contained, self-serving and self-sufficient, while ignoring that thought knocking at the side of his mind. He was lonely, he was alone, despite the immense adrenaline filled day job that seemed to be consuming his every waking moment.
The Long version:
There are many keys within this world, to unlock the safe sitting over in the corner, behind the painting or cabinet. The shapes and sizes, the designs, all made to make opening such places a mystery to some. To others, that enjoy such things, there’s the mystery and knowledge of opening said safe. The mystery unfolds, the notches click, the noises creak, the wheel spins with each designated number.
Life can often resemble a safe, doors being locked, keys thrown away, moments placed hidden beyond reach and more. If you really think about things, hold the thought within your mind, the hardest lock should always, always, be between the world and your heart. What lies beneath, the thoughts, the emotions, are often tender, hurt, scared from the years of pain and tears. It’s no wonder that many people quickly close their hearts. There’s fear, there’s rejection, there’s the above pain and far, far more.
It’s horrendous, it’s tragic, that others often bare their heart wide open, for all to see. I say tragic as that’s where the most damage is caused. We all need a key, we all need that lock to protect ourselves but how far should we go? Do we reach forward, with caring arms to embrace, while holding everything back, or do we try to simply take each day as it arrives. Only you, or I, can decide.
For me, I’m hesitant, wary, wondering what and where the moments will take me. I’m not quick to love, neither quick to admit that I do, but by the heavens above I’m quick to hold. I’m vulnerable, I’m easily hurt, but quick to recover. I should have a key, but that’s neither here, there, or important. You, however, are obviously important to me.
We reach forward with wide-eyed optimism, heart wishing to smash through the iron bars partially raised to protect ourselves. I can appreciate that; completely, partly, mostly, maybe even maybe. We’re all different, despite all being hurt, or feeling pain and anguish. We’re human, expressing most thoughts with such freedom.
What I’m trying to say, while ensuring I spend as much time as possible adding more and more words, is that I like you. I appreciate you. You have a very busy life. You’re dedicated and I respect that. Admire what you’re doing and have done in life. You’re a Mother, a hard working individual that deserves only the respect that she’s earned over the many, many years. You’re a woman, feisty, beautifully sculpted, eyes of fire and lips of sin. You’re what a Man rarely even knows he should adore.
With all of the words above, no matter what’s written, said, done previously, I do, honestly, want the key to your heart. It’s a precious and tender gift. It’s something to treasure and protect with all of my energy and strength.
The short version:
Take me upstairs and let me... . We’ll bond and, eventually over the weeks, fall in love. Done.
They say, those people, the ones that like to fade into the background. Ever present, ever scolding, the snide remarks and side glances. They’re amongst you, the I, the me and you within our lives. Evade them, ignore them, if you can and when you see fit.
They say that everything should be taken with moderation. Then why love without fear, or hesitation? Should we listen to the baffling dreams and normality of the many designed to silence the few stars amongst us? I say no, never, ever forever, the moderation of our lives be damned and forgotten.
They say, that it’s the punch you don’t see, that knocks you out. I beg to differ as I cry you that deep river, as the punches could be staring you in the eyes and yet, despite this, they still destroy you.
There are many, many ways to live your life, with angst, anger, the negative views being explored by many and more. We choose, each day, in each way, to live our lives the way we wish to do so. Some explore, some develop, with most stuck within the transitory space of the day to day. It’s what we do. It’s what we know.
There are many people that heal, that actively find the path of freedom, the rhythm of their own lives becoming an essential part of their growth and status. They’re the special ones, the peacekeepers, the serene few, that only wish the best for you and me. I’ve known them, even embraced them, only to let them float away as my own consciousness broke in two.
It’s a tragic world, a suffering world, where the memories haunt and the words repeat. Again and again, each day, each morning, the noon, as well as the night, we pierce our own hearts with the words we really should leave behind. The past, the future, both objects of desire, betrayal and longing. Apologise to the universe, say the words out aloud, hoping that the words reach their intended destination. Find peace.
Find… love. It’s the most important feeling within our single, solitary, momentary lives.
I can feel the heat, around me, holding me, taking care of the mental bruises exposed from the recent events. Each moment, each word, held together with the thought of seeing you again. I know it’s idiotic, almost senile, that I think the way I do. You cannot hold me, expose me, or stop the coming days and thoughts. It’s life, it’s present, the seconds that threaten my very sanity.
I have cried. I have shed those tears, in private, on the subway train, while walking and right next to your arms. Life bores me, ignores me, as I bathe within everything you are. Maybe I’m not normal, possibly forgetting that you still hold a part of me against those lips of yours.
I gave far too much. The usual and typical story of the modern day. I craved you, desired you, wanted to have you in so many ways and, upon the day that you finally let me indulge you with my fantasies, it was almost as if you knew exactly what I wanted. I remove the word ‘wanted’, replacing it with ‘needed’.
It has been fifty nights since we last met, to exchange those heavy kisses that you pressed against my body. You thirsted, you excelled, and I matched your desire with ease. You asked me, you begged me, to express myself so many, many times, with my smile acknowledging your wishes. We moved together like we were dancing within the soft sheets. But fifty nights, apart, abandoned, has damaged my very understanding of your words.
We spoke, we expressed, we exhaled all of our darkest, deepest wants from each other. The simplicity of words, the honesty of basic desire, all brought together as we did the very things that came naturally. Your skin, against mine, holding me, guiding my arms around you
Standing there, admiring, watching her, he viewed the way she moved and looked. She was splendour itself, that magnificent crescendo that filled his heart, body and mind with such tremendous thoughts. Then, of course, there were the feelings. Those riotous moments, where he could swear that he could so easily lose control. He was, above all, her man.
He didn’t truly care about the day to day, the sustaining glass houses that they all lived within, as she was absolutely everything. His focus. His worth. He could, possibly, find another, ten others, a hundred more, but there would be no use to such things as she just knew what to say. How to say it. With a smile, with savage eyes, a just tongue, or even just a silent look. She was, to him, the half of a complete world.
She was standing just across the street from where he stood, looking through a shop window, minding her own business waiting. Waiting for him. He wasn’t late, as he wouldn’t do such a thing, but arriving early afforded him a chance to see her in a different light. Beautiful, serene, the power within hidden for none to see. He knew her, wanted to know more, with each day bringing forward a new reason to smile.
The years had flown, moved away with the clouds of time. They’d flourished, learnt from each other, enjoyed each other and, above that, simply helped each other. The kind words, the expectations seldom appearing, the respect flourishing and more.
She was wearing a dress, not too tight, above the knee with sandals. Apparently, to his delight, this was the current fashion trend of the current year, month and possibly day. She had that vibrant flair for her clothes, matching, with his ever-approving gaze. He’d even, at times, offer positive suggestions for that ever important three colour rule. He got it. He understood these things, as much as he could.