31 things

There are days when my heart is full. Full from just a word or a thought that you have taken time to share. Full from the love that we once had, the love that forever holds us together. Love that was never fireworks in a dark night, love that has been like roots of a sturdy tree, withstanding, dependable and kind. Friends of my deepest heart, enemies of my unclear sky, these days have been filled with you. These days I feel, these days I fear: make me.

I am hanging between my deepest fears, my dearest hopes.

The days pass uncontrollably and remind me how feeble each attempt is.
I hope there is yet a lot I still will achieve.
Knowing the limits is impossibly hard, learning them takes time, a painful process.
I am settled, unsettled, restless, content.
Change is driven by the desire to want more. I seldom want more, I always want much, much more.
I have never really been challenged to forgive.
I have never been challenged to really love.
Sadness makes me whole.
Kindness I will forever value the most in you.
I deplore those who are not humble.
If you did not know, I am weak.
Sorrow in a stranger’s voice soothes me.
If searching means finding absolutes and definites, then I will search always.
Belief takes almost all of me.
Confidence is gained and lost, with just one word you hand it, you steal it from me.
I have thought myself capable of more, then grow silent and content with all that I have achieved so far.
By fate I have been stranded in a life that is only almost.
For too long I have waited.
My faults are many, most severely I have only allowed my heart to be touched once.
I am unable to make my past, my past.
Being reminded that I am not enough lights the fire, kills me burning.
Seeing more makes me more.
Wherever, whenever, words make me smile.
I am the last man standing in the fight to prove not every heart is evil.
Dreams I cry after, I have painfully let go.
There are only a handful of you who know me, you save me.
For these lines I have but one to thank, but I never do.
I am fortunate beyond belief.
If you were to take it all away, I would try to thank you.
If you were to stay a little longer, I would tell you to find your reflection in the words that I have stolen or borrowed.

Green reminds me

Take a moment to roam with me. Let me guide you through these streets, this maze of thoughts, these alleys and avenues that start here and end over there. Somewhere over there. This will be an adventure, a grandiose and magnificent journey that you and I will share. The skies will be unexpected lilac, the clouds will part at the command of your fingers. Rivers will flow upstream, waterfalls will be covered in glitter-like vapour. You will never get drenched or lost in the mist. The canyons will shrink, lakes will grow, rains will gather and fall only around us. We will stay dry and use the power of thought to leap across deserts and oceans. I might show you how to travel without ever taking a step forward. There are thousands we need to visit, there are nooks and crannies we need to discover, there are hearts awaking and some leaving. We must depart, we must depart now.

This here is spring. You might not know, might not have ever seen or felt. Spring is balmy and warm. Spring is cool and unpredictable. Spring is vicious in her ferocity to drive winter out. Always. Spring used to be equal to the other seasons, they used to have equal time and measure, equal power and beauty. Each had time to prepare and plan, to move slowly then briskly, to administer change the most magnificent way. Spring is still amazing, indescribably unique. Spring has lost its precious time to winter, has lost its time to summer. Wedged between the two sturdiest adversaries, spring has diminished in power, dwarfed in significance. Spring seldom shines any more, a rare sight. This is how you should imagine the wistful, undeterred beauty: spring is elusive, a floating coat of scented petals. Spring is prolonged and pensive, a continual state of anticipation. Slow rising and dormant, moving to awaken one bit at a time. Spring is a masterful swordsman, duelling winter into submission, winning a fair fight, then losing an honest battle. Spring is every shoot, every tender startling. It is sunshine wrapped in the gentle adoration of humble trees breaking out in fragrant petals. Spring is the heart’s only time to plead for then receive forgiveness.  

Green reminds me of how we used to be. Every picture in my mind, every moment that faded, every bitterness escaped, every tarnished memory of how we gulped the sights of the waking nature in spoonfuls. Then it all slipped, the green into a million colours and you into the misty horizon; somewhere on a shaky raft, floating through the velvety, unkind ocean. I knew of the certainty that the green would return, that spring would pay a visit once again. In turn I knew I had lost you forever, that no changing warm current would every drift you back to my shores. The sadness of the coming seasons, the scorching heat of summer, the instant freeze of autumn, the slow rising giant that winter is took my pain, slowly rounded the sharp edges and made my heart content with the wait. The beauty that would beseech me to keep waiting, to keep wanting, to keep searching and yearning, longing for the green. Without hurting now, I confess that green still reminds me of how we used to be.  

You must see now that someone, somewhere, cheated you out of spring. This spring has been kidnapped by a winter that refused to leave, by a summer that could no longer muster the patience to enter when it was supposed to, at the given word, at the exact time. Still you must journey, cut through the sudden and blinding lights of the sun. Stay clear of the breeze it throws our way, stay clear of the unknown marshes, the forests that are littered with the slumbering ghosts of winter. You must romance spring even if it is only here for mere hours. Show it you care, show how you have been preparing for the unthinkable waltz with the river, the trees, the shrubs, the tulips that are rapidly shooting out from the nothing that the freezing winter has turned them into. Break free from the cage, capture the essence and open your heart to the warmth. Fill the streets with your light steps, make way for the breeze that carries the perfumed scents, the messages of hope. This is your spring, the treasure of your soul, the journey that you must never forget. This is when you awake, when you must plead for then receive forgiveness. 

Fallen to the ground

Sometimes my heart bleeds from an open wound. The ghastly sight, this bundle of muscle unable to heal itself. Monstrous and amazing, most are in awe, unbelieving. Rarely does it show, seldom do I notice, but in instances when the unforgiving moon shines its silver light onto my barren chest, I see the scars, the scabs, the painful reminders of fights I never chose to fight. They were not my fights, they were not my fights. My heart was young. When you broke it, when you slashed it open, when you burned it, my heart was too young to heal properly. Now I carry these reminders, awful memories, painful lessons that I have learnt all too young. Mostly I cover it, mostly it is at peace now, mostly just a scarred heart on the outside, intact on the inside.

The days were precious, we were sheltered. We chased bubbles blown from the mighty well of careless Saturday afternoons. We stood high when we heard the call, took heed and swung from branches low enough. Those birds stood waiting, in cold, in rain, in the burning sun and we watched. Followed as they flew from fence to tree to roof. Ran like there was no tomorrow, fell onto the velvet grass of forgiveness, wrapped in the gentle softness of the growing spring lawn. Our faces glowed from the white snow, from the golden sun, from the beading sweat of excitement. Those adventures would never repeat, we hardly remember. The pebbles that scarped your knee, the stool that was stolen from under you, the flowers that bloomed perfect and were picked to kill the fruits growing. Our little hearts beat better with each passing day, beat stronger, grew to once withstand the heavy strike that would befall. All too soon it would befall.

The course cannot be changed or altered. The very dubious path that we took together was not one that could have been changed. What fate had handed, we had to follow. Blindfolded we embarked, never suspecting in the careless summer sun that we were headed for the deadening darkness. That we were headed to a sudden plunge, an inexplicable blow which would wound all our hearts. It seemed warm and never ending. The adventures did not have a reason to cease. New ones came every moment, there was a whole world to discover. We ran faster, we rushed through each day quicker, we listened when instructed. We obeyed words we did not understand, we never questioned the sublime authority. We never questioned you. We should have. We should have suspected that in all our obedience you would turn against us. From behind, from the dark alleys that we could not see you would come and sit us down. You would come and crush our world, force us to survive in a war of words, leave us alone in a storm stirring up houses. Nothing stayed intact; your whimsy destroyed everything we had known. Destroyed two hearts that knew not how to weather your storm.

I have time on my side. We all do. I taught myself to forgive, to embrace my wounded heart. To let it bleed when the tears are not deep enough. I taught myself to accept and reject. Some parts have been chipped, some parts cracked under the pressure. You stole parts that were never for the taking. I gave away bits that grew back. I live in an ocean of sadness and the pain in a stranger’s voice soothes me. Just like your tears hushed your bulging anger, just like the clarity of your path calmed your words. I am comforted by silence, mostly become whole in sadness. I no longer want to escape but cannot find words to thank you. My heart was too young, you did not take enough care of it. My heart was young but you stabbed it anyway, cried to see it bleed, covered it softy so it would heal in the balsamic autumn sun. It never really did.  

The path we must take cannot be changed. The obstacles that are set must be met, must be overcome. Your choices are yours, I have learnt to make my own. The hearts you were responsible for have turned out to be imperfect, turned out to be victims of your rampage. We learnt to float, to take all our pain and drift towards a kinder horizon. Had you known different, better, had you been able to see clearer and to act wiser, you would have taken better care of the hearts entrusted in your care. We have survived, but just barely. Our hearts sometimes still bleed from an open wound. In an instance everything had changed. In an instance our worlds had changed. In just an instant we fell to the ground. 

 

Oh father can’t you see the pieces that have fallen on the ground.

You and mom decided nothing could be saved inside this house.