Another note.

Far from the blinding lights of happiness comes a clear cry that speaks volumes on a gloomy night, a clearly dark night, on the desperateness of a failed attempt, on a futile effort to gratify the soul with hollow regret. There is time to hide for everyone who feels weak in the knees. Focus the mind on the kind spring awakening and reassure the spirit of a boundless journey through the haphazard maze of time’s fortress. Somehow we will all fly.

My new bag will carry my burden of regret, shame and even indecisiveness. In the meantime I have the chance to delude my susceptible heart into thinking of the imminent change around as the sole cause of an eventual happy ending. Change is not kind. Not to me. Not now. Not yet. Folded arms cannot reach towards the hill of forgiveness. My unwillingness to change much of my situation leaves my senses paralysed and my will helpless, stuck in an innate body and a discommendable mind. Here within lies the challenge. My challenge.

I keep wishing. I let the troubles fall off the tip of my fingers with one hasty shake, escaping the traps of the deep wrinkles of my palms. Let the sun catch them and lift their fragile bodies onto someone new. I know not how to deal with them. To me they are like children with no direction or need for care. The early April breeze keeps my hands clean, blown off it are the simple troubles of a tragic life. A kingdom with no savoury hallucinations, just images of horror that appear kind in the daylight. Smile. Write. Confused words appear and demand to be recorded on paper. The fingers lie disconnected from the mind. Excommunicate.

I need him to love me back. Now. With his sensitive heart and gentle mind. I need to know that we can survive a stormy sea that lies between us. In change I will become more of me. You will have most of me. All most of me.

My gasping soul needs you to give it time to regain its composure and grace before it can leap toward another hopeful wanderer of the night. Hold me close for now since the rain falls, cold brushes against me, dark seduced the light, the hollow shelter frightens me more than it used to comfort. Alone I have no chance to survive, even with the colours that flow from the words I steal from others. My empty cave is damp and sombre, your hand can make it a little less cruel.

I need to keep writing. Writing notes. Not just for now, but until I know I found the one that needs no more writing on the wall. It may be years still or that time may never come. I may need to write countless notes before I can finally write the one that says now I love.