Bullet Point #8

“Your friends will change and some will leave you. This will undoubtedly cause you grief.”

Deep do the roots of friendship lie. Deep in my soul there are a few other souls who have claimed home. Home I gave them, or have tried to.

But some friends have turned from you.

That they have. My heart pierced. Pain took a throne right at the centre of my heart’s secret place for love. I had no words, none loud enough to keep those who were slipping away. As the miles grew below my feet, the ties grew thinner and some friends disappeared out of sight, forever. The pain this caused, like a deadly serum, spread over my soul and kept it ill. It can only slowly recover from the loss of the lives it thought it was connected to.

Loyalty you say is a virtue.

One that is often neglected, one that has been my essential companion on the journey to finding friends to travel the lonely road of life with. Early in life I have learnt that friends mean air, source of life, answers to many tangled tales told along the way. First I stayed silent and in the silence listened to murmurs. From those fragments of words I picked the origin which best suited my ears. Then I watched as that person showed their outline to me. Then I saw the smiling face, held the sweaty little hands, laughed at jokes made at somebody else’s expense and then showed parts of my soul; without them realising I gave them my all. These friends I still have, they still see the whole of me.

I heard you have changed.

My one foe: time, has made me who I am. And change must come hand in hand with time. Sometimes welcomed sometimes not so much. But the most dearest parts of my soul have had time to change with me, to see the change in me and see the change in themselves. It’s a two way mirror.

But you cry.

When I know that a friend has been lost to the world, yes. When I know that no longer will my ears hear the whispered secrets. When I am alone. When I realise that alone might also mean lonely. When she’s on an island and I am not. When he is fighting for his life and I know not. When they’re together and I’m not with them. When a song that we danced to plays on the radio. When a phone call sounds distant, too distant to comprehend what has happened to us. When time robs us of the most precious moments a friendship can have. When I know that treasuring a glimpse of a past life can never carry meaning in the now. When weekends are too short for a meaningful conversation. Then I weep.

Then I weep.

154 Folk Songs

Through the creative formations of some of the most talented musicians, poets, tellers of truths, I hope to stay afloat. These strings, ropes of hope, I clench to. On any other day I would walk by, but today I stay. Earnest.

When coming undone can seem so harmless is when I realise there are ways to let go. Parts will disappear so that something new can grow. For them much like for me.

There are 154 new ways to live.
There are 154 chances of seeing the beauty in this world.
There are 154 different juxtapositions of words and tunes that all sing of the despair and the love and the marriage of the two that almost always ends in pain.

My heart is still beating. How ‘bout yours?

Time – what if I had You.

A pointless infatuation with something that’s past. With someone who’s never been. Reappearance, or the illusion of it, somehow can throw the self into a dark and damaged state. The right to be tortured and tormented grows with every time the heart gets shattered. Hang on, there’s a life to be lived here. Pain, even if dire, will seduce the yearning soul into thinking it is living. Then it thrives and seldom leaves. Wait to see if you can stand. If you can get up from the floor. Count the minutes that pass, the pain that sets in. Watch as the soul gets emptied and another spirit takes its place. A more cautious and careful spirit, a more rational and pragmatic spirit. There are lots of different ways to live. Each day can change us all, eternally.

So when you enter again, in such a fashion, having never been here before, is when my life unwinds. Stranger, here I give my heart. You can’t see, can you? I always pick the ones who cannot be. Who cannot be mine. To you I offer my all. But what if my all is not pleasing to your eyes? In every season I find winter, wrap my flawed body in many layers, hide what could appear unpleasant to you. You need not ever unwrap.

Our story goes: the Moon was half full. Soft melody danced around the room and got us drunk with its hazy and seductive words. All it took was just one lonely glance. You had me. Once you knew you held time, you pulled me ever closer to you. I was shy, you were curious. I was afraid, you were adventurous. I was damaged, you were strong. In the safeness of your hands I began to uncoil. Traced my once proud self back to how it used to live. I found my voice. No longer alone, I walked straight, stooping only once in a while. I let go your hand and never lost balance. Alone was just as free as with you. Every secret wanted to belong to you, so I let them make the trip from my heart to yours. You kept them safe. You would have kept them safe. You would have kept me safe. If only you had ever been. Been mine.

You look lonely, lonely in that picture. I hope it was just that moment, that unfortunate moment when the iris closed. You breathed and showed a much happier face the moment after. Time caught you off guard. Time tricked me into believing in you. If only I had you. If only you had ever been.