Sometimes there are things in life that you second guess, when it is too late to change it. Like acid indigestion inducing food, or neon paint on the walls. Like promising someone you'd always be there, no matter what they did. Like slit wrists or a hangman's noose.
I wonder if she second guessed herself as she walked down the lane with rope in hand. Did her hands tremble as she tied the knot? Did she hesitate before the jump? She did wonder, even once, if the bridge was even tall enough? Was the rope short enough? Would this attempt blunder? Was it worth it? I wonder if she second guessed herself that night.
Funny. You'd think it would have taught me that you can't always be there for anyone. You can't listen when someone won't talk until the moment is over, until they have second guessed themselves out of it and it is only a memory to use. A tool, in case the moment comes again.
And yet I still promise people forever. I promise to be there for them and never leave. I take the hardships and the laughter in stride and stay beside people, hoping that one day the darkness will end and forever can become reality.
How easily those promises are to make and break. We do it without even noticing at first, letting the moments slip past without attention until there are no moments left. Until the will to carry out that promise is gone, and the words are nothing but poetry of the past, fueling the self-hate, the victimization, the blame of the present to create a future where there are no bridges left, because nobody second guessed themselves and they all burned so hot, so well, that even the ashes aren't real.(less)
i was sleeping on your couch in the early morning hours, face smashed into the embroidered pillows enough to leave an imprint on the side of my face, drooling, my fingers numb from sleeping on my arm. the light behind the curtains was faint and you were there.
you were always there.
i wasn't anything. i wasn't ever anything. you made me feel like i had evaporated into nothingness and that the world ceased to exist, that i had flown away somewhere else and when your hand brushed my cheek a little part of me died.
early morning. late at night. 8 am. mom's calling. is that her? i don't want to talk to her. leave me alone. tell her i'm asleep.
you sat down on the couch and laid my legs over your lap. the bruises on my knobby knees ached at the press of your fingertips, but i was quiet, i was always quiet, and i let you make them darker.
you're unhappy, you said, and i nodded. it was easy.
who are you unhappy with? i couldn't answer that. your fingers dug deeper.
is it me?
i was drooling all over your couch cushions and yet you said nothing, just looked at me like i was some pitiful creature you had to fix, had to make better. you looked at me like i was something of worth, and that hurt more than the bruises on my kneecaps or the nausea in my stomach, than the way you folded me into your arms or kissed my forehead with burning lips.
you're such a kid, you said. just answer me.
i shook my head again. your nails dug into my calves. drew blood.
The weekend's over in one large haze
Clearing out the path in a flaming blaze.
Closing a home we all have known,
A kingdom where all have held the thrown.
Now in the past, in lingers in an eternal daze.
When I finally broke, it was because of broken toys. A sea of plastic arms and broken glass, the aftermath of 1 and a half bottles of laphroaig. He came downstairs, giggling, and abruptly stopped. I've never been awoken by an absence of noise, but when he stopped it(more) was deafening to me.(less)
Take your time.
I know the world's not going anywhere,
These outdated puppeteers have lost their muses,
one immaculate footstep at a time,
(more) they left behind glistening reminders
in the mudprints
and whispered echoes,
"stay, stay here".
Prone, we had pleaded for reconciliation,
but our language was too loud to be heard
by such fragile ears.
It's too late to catch the falling stars,
we're too small, now.
All the broken children, playing with their broken toys
to pass the time,
they remember when the rain would fall softly,
how it used to drip down skin,
beading, joining, falling,
the whole word--
the whole world used to fall like that,
You and I used to fall like that.
piece by piece
numbing gnawed away
and left us barren.(less)
as if the monsoon season's come a little early
but at the same time, as if it didn't just rain heavily for three hours straight (i'm still sweating, the rest of this country is still sweating, and one of the central provinces has just declared a state of calamity(more) from the sheer heat)
as if i'm done with this semester
as if i don't have an upcoming final exam in the one subject i'm likely to fail (because mathematical logic hurts)
as if that other group paper isn't taking a while to finish
as if i don't actually have a ton of shifting papers on my head
as if the world is fine and tonight is fine and i am all right(less)
Have you noticed how ants kiss each other on their way to wherever they are busily scurrying?
Single-file, head-to-bum-to-head, one behind the other, drill sergeants' muses heading towards the nearest source of sustenance. And then one will come along in the opposite direction and kiss each one of(more) them a secret, and they will continue forth, each one a little richer.
We could learn from the ants: a little less hurrying, a little more loving.(less)
One. Oki hooked his pinkie under Nishihiro's, smiling at the taller boy. "Pinkie promise," he agreed, squeezing tightly. "We'll be best friends forever!" Nishihiro nods determinedly, leaning closer to be better heard as he whispered "I promise!" back.
(more) Two. "Ow!" Oki pulls his finger away from the white sheet, watching a bead of blood collect on his ring finger. He looked around, embarrassed to see the boy behind him smiling sympathetically. His name is Nishihiro-they used to be friends, but for some reason they stopped.
Three. Izumi's reckless in a fight, holding out the obscene finger and waving it in Hamada's face. Oki doesn't even know why he's angry, only knows that he keeps saying "shut up" and "leave me alone". Nishihiro is behind Hamada, pulling him apart as well. From over the blonde's shoulder, he offers Oki a shrug and a smile.
Four. "It was you," Nishihiro murmurs, lifting his index finger to point at Oki. "I made the promise with you."
"I know. It's fine, we were just kids." Oki doesn't talk to him a lot, but he knows Nishihiro is a good guy. It makes him sad, but he doesn't want to force Nishihiro to be his friend if he doesn't want to.
"But I promised." Nishihiro smiled, lowering his hand. "Pinkie promised. Please, let's hang out tomorrow. Homework, or baseball talk."
Oki smiles and nods, suddenly feeling a lot less empty.
Five. Oki flashes Nishihiro a thumbs-up sign as he runs over, grinning from ear to ear as he wraps his arms around Oki's waist and hugs him tight. "Good game," he whispers, just barely loud enough for Oki to hear. "You were great."
"You were, too." He pulls back long enough for Nishihiro to give him a thumbs up and laugh, hugging him again. (less)
One thumb, both ring fingers, an index finger, a little finger.
Bloody bits of flesh and bone, hardly snacks for an enterprising feline, much less we fouler beasts.
(more) I cracked my remaining knuckles., felt my blood flowing out.
"Couldn't 'ave done it nice n' tidy-like, could ye have?"
The pigman sneered, giving entirely too much view of his nostrils.
"Da Lorde said, "take five of 'er fingers'. 'E didn't say which 'and or which bits. So's, I thought, why not be creative? I 'eard ladies like creative types."
I sighed, and willed the blood to cease flowing. Flames licked out my veins, burning the wounds shut. I'd be a little woozy from the blood loss.
I flexed my thumbs. "Hmm. You left me these, at least. I'll still be able hold a mug of coffee." The threat implicit in the mentioning of that peculiar drink made his eyes flare with fear of the Serpent.
"We aint' in a cafe. That don't matter." He still held that fat knife. It was strange to see the effect mentioning my patron, even so obliquely, had on those who sought to do wrong.
I pulled a packet of instant coffee from my sleeve, using what deftness was left to me on the hand that still had both thumb and forefinger. From the other, I produced a tiny mug.
"Ow did you - you SNEAK!" he backed away, knife held in front of himself, hoping to fend off his misfortune.
"This is a place of Serpent's Peace. What can this humble barista make for you today? I apologize for our limited inventory, it appears we only have instant coffee . . "
The spilled blood, my blood, begain to roil, to boil on the wood.