a lighter load

I am uneasy. Things happen around me that make me uneasy, frightened, uncomfortable. I realize that most of the time I do exactly the same with my words. I make the reader feel uneasy, uncomfortable. But deeper do the roots of my despair lie. I feel not the fickle uneasiness of a few well chosen, painfully perfect, sharp letters. Words on paper are just wiggles of lines, succumbed to the writer’s every narcissistic effort. Their truth only shows once the writer has realised their freedom. Rarely does this happen and the reader must never end the quest and the questioning. Why. But this is not what sends me screaming into an empty corner. I fail to understand the simple things, like songs that say goodbye, like a bird almost motionless trying to glide. Love. Death. Life. Disapperance and regret, loneliness. The power that only a moment has. There is no other power like it. There is no power but it.

With every bone in my body, I wish that love can somehow be enough. That it can erect bridges between lost parts of the soul and that it can conquer the undiscovered places of the mind. Every night I pray for the unwanted love to find home. For all loves to finally find home. I ignore instances that present the fact in clear light: love is seldom enough. A teardrop cannot capture the vanity of its existence. Whilst waiting for an imperfect love I forget to calculate the time that passes in loneliness. There’s apprehension and tension, there’s eagerness and enthusiasm, but ultimately all with a bitter end for time all along has been passing mercilessly. And if love can never find the empty heart then all that is left is time gnawing away at the soul. Mercilessly.

I don’t know why some people leave and some stay behind. I don’t understand the moment everything shifts. Life into oblivion. Present into past. Love into prayer. Laughter into tears. Sadness into pain.

The only power I have is the power to whisper sincerely please don’t go.

Sharp enough to teach a lesson, soft enough to never make me bleed. But the world is cruel and cruelly it takes that which is most precious to us. Each other…

I’ve not made amends with time. I cannot forgive its nonchalance and mighty power over all. I stay away as much as I can. I remind myself that I am in awe only when I see seasons changing, when I see progression, when I see change. But I grow fearful when I see the past recorded on paper. When I see the wrinkles on my hands. When I see that those who should be here have been called away. Forever. Time has played many tricks on me, still, I murmur in this peaceful night: I can wait.