Liar.

"Private assurances are terribly easy to break; they evaporate like the morning dew. After all, it is only your word against mine when I say that you misunderstood me and I didn't really say or mean what you thought. We are deeply prone to self-deception in this area above all."

From a book by Christopher Ash that was lying on Eirian's bedside table the night before she got married. On why marriage needs to be a public act.

the reality is.

i miss you terribly and i hate you for it, and i keep asking god to take away the dreams and the anger. you said that you hurt me too much and that you had to put a stop to it, but nothing you did to me then comes close to what you are doing to me now by suddenly and completely cutting yourself off from me and wiping out all the beautiful things along with the ugliness.

ben harper - amen omen

there is a boy playing guitar in my living room right now. i wish it was you but it's not and it's absolutely breaking me, still.

*****

i don't know where you came from
and i don't know where you've gone.
old friends become old strangers
between the darkness and the dawn.

amen omen, will i see your face again?
amen omen, can i find the place within
to live my life without you?

i listen to a whisper slowly drift away,
silence is the loudest parting word you never say.
i put your world into my veins
but now a voiceless sympathy is all that remains.

anon.

all my words are bloated with other people's words, and i hate that you made me a cliché.

instant

this feels so wrong. i have nowhere to put my feelings.

still life.

hope does not disappoint us

whether well-fed or hungry

we have the mind of Christ

then we shall see face to face

the fragrance of life

unveiled faces

the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort

who alone is immortal and who lives in unapproachable light

a quiet life.

Letters 2.

i'm looking forward to one day being able to answer 'good' when someone asks me how i am
but then again the last time i looked forward to one day it didn't work out so well

Letters.

i imagined myself with a new name

By the way

I'm not desperate. But you should have fought for me.

denial

a month spent in a big black cloud. so hazy i can't even think of an original metaphor.

i'm really scared, just quietly.

You Have Forgotten.

People keep telling me I'm coping really well but they are wrong. I wake up crying every morning after fitful nights passed in and out of horribly realistic nightmares. I want this warped version of you to get out of my dreams. To step outside the hazy edges, morph back into the man who loves me, decide that i'm worth fighting for, and come back home to me for real. Because love? It doesn't just bail.

God says

That I have loved right.

forever in an hour.

i'm regretting all the times i took for granted just walking down the street holding your hand.

i don't know why i never imagined those walks coming to an end.

i want to string together beautiful little sentences to make you want me. but really, i just want you to want me. i didn't think it was really that much to ask. i didn't think i would have to hold you down and twist your arm.

thousands of kilometres shouldn't mean anything if you really cared for me. but then again i can't, cannot, face the prospect that you don't really care for me after all.

do you really want to let go of my hand?

will that really make your life better?

i guess you don't understand how much you've hurt me. i simply can't believe that you could have done this to me if you had any inkling of what these days would be like for me.

faraway.

what on earth are you thinking? how can you be like that when i am like this? why do you think things are so hard for me right now? who do you think made me feel this way?

i cannot

handle this.

you

you know what? life is really hard. really un-cookie cutter.

new year.

down down down down down down down down down down down down down down down down down down down down down down down down down down down down down down.

What a lady once called a misplaced script.

It's so hard being the one there. On the end of the phone pretending I'm not crying so I won't make you feel worse. Noises of the city. "I can't hear you." "Don't worry." "I'll talk to you later." "Ok." Things turn so quickly into everything angry and ugly. And you're far far. Off the end of the phone, off a cliff and not yourself. Outside of yourself and outside of us and there's nothing I can do and it makes me something. Sort of mad about it. Sort of fervent and something something else. We started the week with funny, silly, lovely words and now it's just some covered-up tears and you all large in your head, all full of everything that is now and all that you don't think will change in months and years and time. Bursting things, uncommon. Refracted in the window between this minute and the next is all possibilities all inevitabilities all improbabilities all. Elated or embittered? Happy and sad are mixed up brawling, up in each others' faces and flailing limbs like they're in a stupid bar fight. The boundaries are murky and indistinct. And where are you in all that? And where am I? And what on earth am I supposed to do about it? And what have these last few months been about? And when do I start picking up all the debris on the floor, on the bottoms of my shoes everywhere I go? And who is supposed to tell me it's all going to be ok? Because I'm ready for your entrance and I'm out here blind with a bundle and a broken one.

Heap

The rhythm of heart-dwelt drums.
Stepping washed uneven pavements.
Strung-together notes, paper chain inspired.

Life in the past.

There are roses. And heart-shaped balloons and
confetti type things that
are annoying because they get everywhere in all the little
small crevasses and gaps, all the in-betweens.
There are days set aside and tied up in sentimental sentiment
and also ribbons.
There are scribbled graffittied blue-lined
notebooks that say nothing except how much we all want to
bridge the white space of the page that's like the white space
both denied and admitted with a childish ever-after,
a word,
used by everyone and the biggest most obnoxious
cliche in the whole wide world. Yet
exactly what I mean. You
and a blank space and me and some air making the car
windows fog up with messy alphabets.
There's no epiphany here not even a grassroots one not
even and then a whispered prayer.
You hold me from so so far away.