Bitterness

The faces on the wall stay the same, even as the world changes around them. How is it that time passes so quietly, that age creeps up so steadily? To look back is bittersweet, while the future ahead looms frightfully. Weeks pass without notice; friendships neglected and letters unsent. Time to time, I find it's not only myself that age sneaks up on: last week while at work, a kindly lady stared at me with a mixture of grief and surprise; for upon discovering my youth, she had distressfully realized her own advancement of age. I could do nothing but halfheartedly smile and hand her a consolatory cup of coffee.

And so, with my own daily discovery that moments lost will not be returned, I find myself dismayed at my own foolish pride. Irrational pride with which I discover myself clinging to broken bottles, holding tight to misunderstandings from whence I've been hurt. Time passes, and the taste of my apologies grow foreign and bitter. I have yet to discover the answers: instead, I find myself dependent upon hopeless dreams, growing ever more disappointed as time passes.

Hatred burns a hole in my heart and leaves me broken without a crutch: if only life were that simple, and I were unacquainted with stubbornness.

If only, if only.

My Tearful Standby

Broken hearts dont easily mend.
And hope, once lost, is not easily found.
And life, once settled, does not stay easily sound.

Ripples in a deceptively still river of life.
When screaming cannot change the truth,
And tears do nothing to alter the pain.
Where do you turn to?


Love is too fragile a thing to be handled, too trusting a thing to be broken. How is it that people hold the power to take each others' hearts and crush them, without regard to what they've done? Betrayal. Such a bitter word: a betrayal.

The ghosts become overpowering, the wracking sobs too much. Somehow it has passed beyond the point where comfort is consolation: my words are useless and hang in the air, unbidden and unwelcome. Only an ignorant fool could not see what he has done, what he has left behind.

Another End

One night to ponder.

The worth in the tears of a circle of girls, each relaying the value of a memory as honestly as is possible. A memory, a life: the invisible bonds that draw us together. When revealed, these bonds uncover the rare value of appreciation: stories infrequently told, emotions rarely recapped. Powerful comments that are taken to heart, each comment a treasure to the recipient, never to be forgotten. Perhaps the most sincere honesty is when words cannot be found; that stretch of understanding between the tears and the laughter. Between being left behind and being found once again. Those awkwardly phrased words that fill the listener's eyes with tears: the beauty in the simplicity. No scripts, no lies. Just raw, earnest honesty.

The innocence in the face of a sleeping child, so calm and free. Unburdened by any weights of this world, simply living with the boundless opportunities life presents. No self- consciousness, no fears.

The comfort in a cup of cocoa, the warmth and familiarity of a cozy routine. The relaxation in a sketch, the worries of the world following those rigid lines; the formation of something from nothing.

Thus far is my night, a compilation of thoughts and observations. And so, another chapter in my life is ended. Dare I move on, lest it hurts to look back?

First Snow

A dreary cold week, the wind biting at my nose as though to remind me how unavoidable it is. Dark, rainy, and then: the perfect crystals fall from the sky, dancing on the wind. So utterly flawless; yet the instant they make contact, their beauty is gone. Designed to melt. Just another drip of water to wipe away.

And so, with the first snow of the season, I find myself lonelily curled beside the window, watching the flakes gather. Memories swirl through my solitary thoughts, following the last of the chocolate swirls in the bottom of my cup. They twist my reality, bring me back to those fairy tales I once tried to believe. Deadlines hang over my head, promises of the future that I can't quite reach or envision. Just another thing to do.

The merit in a promise, the truth in a lie.

Fairly soon now I'll shed this melancholy loneliness and start to shave the layers off that pile of obligations; my ode to productivity. I'll just need a few blankets to fix this cold: it seems to creep into everything.

Progress

I've found myself lost again, wondering when and if I'll start making progress on that mountainous, endless stack of things to do. Despite my firm resolution for progress, the inevitable occurs: my mind wanders off without warning, visiting nearly anything in my life that lures my attention. Of course, eventually my consciousness catches up and notes the passage of time; despite fanatically realizing this, I end up making a brash attempt to follow those stranded thoughts. By then, these are simply ghosts of what they were: unrecognizable and un- retainable.

They become a frustrating loss that merely leads to further distraction: a pursuit of the fleeting thoughts that make everything else make sense. Those taunting thoughts that so expertly avoid me when I need them most, yet set in after the search is over: my calm after the storm. The thoughts for which I search while seeking reason, despite broken hearts or hopes or dreams. The moral of the story.

Time passes on and deadlines loom with threatening consequence.

The Initiation

Another late night, looking for a place to lay to rest mine wandering thoughts. And so, despite the powerful warnings against such things as blogs, I have seceded from this defiance of the cultural norm and thus: another blog is born. A wise decision or no, it has happened, and once one has ventured this far--there is no turning back.

So, adieu and farewell, I hope you all wished a dream on 11-11, 11:11... you know it's bound to come true. ;)