You just want to be able to find the love that you most desire, is it not one’s Achilles heel. People say disposition, is the definition of love, but maybe it doesn’t have to be. Love? A resultant, an attribute, or nothing more than an illusion. Is it not in our human nature to have the instinct to find a companion? To be a sociable creature. This is an impossible task, for there is no existence, no chemistry, no heart beat. It is as cold as the solid ice beneath my feet in mid winter. There is no warmth in my touch, I persist with the touch in the depth of night, and feel nothing. I feel nothing in my heart, no touch upon my skin. Cornered and starved, half beaten, inches away from death, the clock calls and whisks my soul away. As black and dark as the feathers upon a raven’s back. The blood does not flush through my veins, the blue is stricken upon my body as if cold, as if dead but still living. Trapped in this life, trapped in this love? Trapped in my own lust. If he were to kiss me, I could not feel it, I am immune to love, immune to your charm and touch. I am nothing more than a wretched woman, mute, deaf and defenseless. The public ostracizes me, I am stoned to death, the out casted widow, her only love died a long time ago. They spit on her, make her bleed, make her feel, feel more than just pain but remorse. For she came alive when she died, born into light, flesh and blood from a once known corpse. The body has resurrected and burst into love.
It is difficult to feel like you are losing someone, even if you know they will still be in your life somehow. It is hard to let go, to let control slip away from your grasp, from the words that flutter from your lips or even the suddle gestures of a hug, kiss or embrace will no longer be given nor received. It would seem as though winter was year round, life would not thrive and death would seem so much closer than before. The darkness remains as the light is dismissed and banished from the barren lands. Like love is gone as if it never existed, like it was imaginary, and nothing more than a distant memory and feeling. We cannot cling from the cliff forever. Eventually we all will fall.
How can it be any different for someone in their younger years versus the age of an adult to be taken more seriously, or have more respect or even understand their feelings better. If I were an adult my life would not haunt me the same way it does today. I would be able to make independent decisions, and not have them vetoed by a "higher authority". I understand my feelings better than most adults could, the only reasons why it seems to adults that teenagers act out is because of the authority that is expected to be given to an elder. I think it is Bull! Why should I have to listen to someone when I know they are incorrect, why can I not have the ability to create my own world, I have every capable ability of doing so. I understand the ladder of life, the unfair treatment and cruel scrutinizing world that judges people based on information from others. They themselves could not walk in that person's shoes and probably could not imagine the inner turmoil they have had in their lives based on the needs of other people and the greed some desires. Teenagers act differently than adults because they do not have a valued opinion nor a voice, they eat, cut, vomit, take hallucinogens, and pleasurable drugs in order to escape the clutches of reality. We are misunderstood, and misinterpreted. It is painstakingly true. Even when it seems everything is smooth sailing your folks or the "authority", have to crap heavily on your decisions. They cackle aloud, hahaha (as if giving themselves a victory high-five) what decisions! As if they were talking to an inanimate object and taking their frustration on a punching bag rather than another human being, especially one from their own loins. We have been reduced to alcoholics, rebellious beings, scar-ers of the skin, soar throats, silenced darkened creatures, and even wearing a masquerade every day and playing the part; with the constant reminder of swallowing your tongue and eating crow (when really all you want is to scream aloud and free yourself). A reduction, a price to pay.... for reliving their mistakes, for being imperfect like Adam and Eve, for not being able to express ourselves and curl into a self inflicted ball of torment by authority.
It compels people too know, or at least to have faith in something that is not tangible, nor could be felt through any of the five senses. It is like a safety blanket for insecurities, rather than sins. Could we be truly the children of Adam and Eve, destined for failure and the constant plead of "forgiveness". Why were we unable to be capable of our own fate, our own origin and or roots of development? If we are from the loins of "his" creation, why are we imperfect for eating a fruit, and plundering into a slight moment of debauchery. It seems to be unfair, as life is; but I am a firm believer of the molding and morphing we are capable of through our own actions and to better our future. We do not necessarily go through the process that may be required of us such as finding the ideal partner, having and or raising a child, owning a pet or even something as simple as creating your own bucket list. I know I have not official thought of my bucket list, nor is it written in scripture. At some point, life will exhaust our spirit, we look forward to something that we are uncertain of, a place which has been thought of as better than any spa or humanly creation. Can it exist, does it exist or is our mind capable of creating such an imaginative after life. Is it a peace of mind that was entirely made up to ease the pain of losing a loved one? Or is it comfort to the blow which we feel regret or guilt for something that was out of our control? In my mind it is a bit of both, people cannot accept death, or ourselves. Life is a course. Death is grief, loss and the unknow. Not a safety net nor ease coping with death.
It is not as if I planned to go South or North, or even a journey for that matter. Life can be dignified as an adventure for most people; as for myself it is whatever I choose to make of it. I cannot plan my destiny nor could I predict the tasks for the future or the people I would meet along the way. I can navigate my life, in a sense I am the sailor and the captain of a ship. Perhaps I cannot control the weather nor the conditions of the sea but I can steer my way through a storm, and into the light. I have become Henry the Navigator, I am me, a will never or could never be anything more or less than that. I am all I could ever offer, perfection to say the least, but in another's eyes I could be more than I perceive myself to be. I did not have a magic foretelling crystal ball, nor a magic genie that I rubbed from a lamp. I am not Cinderella, or Snow white, but perhaps I did get my fairy tale ending. He was the navigator, the prince that could and does sail his way to my heart. It is a time period which I can savor and enjoy for my own stimulation and selfish pleasure, but I deserve too be loved, as does everyone else with a beating heart. Destiny. Fate. Serendipity. Any of these words could not compare to the immaculate invocation, that radiates from within my being. Yet I continue to ponder the thought of LOVE, if it were to be real, if it is real if I am the face of love. Am I truly deserving of this four letter word, and if not would I ever be considered worthy. If he loves me and I love him what stops me from perusing anything and everything? Fear strikes me to the core, I would become a solemn drifter among the colliding tide with the unholy moon, I would become a beggar. Stripped of my pride and respect, I would not be meritorious of my maiden name, and furthermore of his. My heart cries out for love, for him to love me. The silent nights force me to become compulsive with my thoughts, as if a freight train rapidly sped cross my brain in a consecutive circular motion, till my stomach became encapsulated with a conjunction of knots. I am nervous that it would be the cause of nerves for him to bring in a breach to my soul, "I Love You", can I handle that? Can I believe in love? In him? Or would I be disowned? I cannot control my compass, but I can help to steer in a straightened direction. To the north, to the largest star of all, to his heart, I will navigate my own life.
Destiny could possibly be defined as the nature of one's being, of one's discourse and or one's life and moral code of justice that may be personified or altered. Perhaps I can sing my journey, I can waltz through and past my life, avoid the topic of fate, of serendipity and certainly destiny. Does love have a steel handed effect on the circumstance, on a life on a person, but more specifically on me? Can my destiny effect my love life, or does my love life effect my destiny, but what I know to be true is that both effect my life. I want to be able to coax the words out from their crusted over, hardened shell of a heart. I sincerely mean what I feel, if only the words could disperse in an orderly fashion, rather than to contradict themselves. It would be as if they were their own element; and in my love's words, as though he were on cloud nine, while mine would be compared to that of soaring above every tree. There is more to love than a puff or vegetation, destiny? Is it destiny? Was it destiny? How? I continuously question my own authority, is my fear failure? Everyone's fear is failure, isn't it? We are to afraid of the truth... that we suck, that there may be a better and or another partner out there for every person that roams the earth, or even the tremble and wrath of that that we cannot control. Whatever the scenario, or case that is faced with destiny we cannot control the unnatural force. LOVE is love, Destiny is DESTINY. a difference yet a similarity.
Looking back on my previous year of life I was to focused on a fantasy and I am Now faced with reality.
I can trust you to catch me when I feel myself slipping from the world, when I feel on the edge of my seat, or the curb of a road. I didn't think I had the capability of falling in love, of even finding love, then I met you and you changed my world. I want to be a better person for you, and for our future, I want to learn how to love the way you love me. I want to be acceptable, then exceptional as a partner. When I dance, he will hold me close to him, if nessecary he would allow me to stand on his feet while he dances for me. He would lead me, when I would stumble he would follow, I know he would sweep me off my feet. i feel an inspiration to persue my interests, to continue to write, to sing till I am content and remain in the thought of a positive mentality. He is the voice I love to hear, his beautiful smile and he may be the love of my life. Let go, let me fly away, let me feel the happiness that I have so long so been missing. I want you there to hold me with your steady hands, to help me walk hand in hand, step by step. My heart fills with life, as my eyes drain from tears your so wonderful, so amazing, only something and someone I would have dreamt of. Never in my wildest imagination would I find you talking to me let alone saying "I love you".
Is this reality? All I can do is question this, how can it be real, how can he be real? It was as if he were a carchiture, he seemed to perfect to be something I could call mine? It was as if he stepped out from a dream, my fantasy novel that repeated in my head. He said everything I wanted to hear and more, but it felt different, it felt meaningful. You are meaningful, you actually care, I know you do. Your onlydesire or motivation rather would be to seek out my happiness. It is difficult to say that you are imperfect, imperfection would not be a word in my vocabulary when it would come to describing you. I may trembel at your touch, and melt into your arms with a kiss. So devine, you are so not me, perfect in every which way. It would be exilerating, our first date, this would be a chance for me to be reborn, I have been given another chance. A gateway to my happiness, a gateway to opportunities, a gateway to finding love. I am an ordinary girl, an average joe, I am nothing special. But he sees what I cannot see, and he makes me so happy, I feel beautiful with him, and he reminds me every day. He is a blessing, and people would say I am crazy, how could a guy like him love a girlo like me? How could my parents accept him? How could they reject him? He is part of my heart, it feels so right, like it was meant to be. I want to love him I want him to love me I want to make it work. No longer Me, Him, I she or he but WE, US.
Its like a mysterious wonder, so serine yet lovely. The beauty is piercing my soul, as if it were the chill up my spine caused by a supernatural element, or perhaps it was me. As if from an outter body experience, as if I could look as though above my own body, as I lay there cold, dead untouced by his lips. I were to lay there unsound, muted, blue and heart stopped. The rhythm of my heart died as he told me he could never love me; he was my one and only love. I have loved him all my life, my best friend my other half, my world, he means everything to me. The sparkle in his eye, as though it were glitter, a red flame that lit my furnace, has been extenguished. My heart remained black as the ashes that mourned his departure, as my eyes followed. The blue ran from my red cheeks, full with anguish. How could I ever be angered by him, how could I have asked him to love me so? It was as though glitter fell from the sky as rain a deep blue, an ivory white as snow, that sparkled but had no meaning, no relevance other than for my happiness. Was that not enough to provoke the slightest of a warmth filled thought? Why could I not live without him, perhaps I spent my whole life with him? It was a tare to my ligaments, to the unraveling of my DNA codon. In disbelief I took that last breath, the inhilation of his near by air. It was overbearing for my fragile and dainty heart to absorb. His eyes uncompassionate, as mine gleamed for his distant grey shadow, once what I found to be so pure, it was practically invisible to the eye. It was a color of unworthy, untainable white. Something I could never have, (and I knew it) now muttled, with the tainted color of black, sorrow, sin, realization of death. The glitter of your figure dimmed, in the darkness amongst the thorns, along the dirt filled path. I remained still, just for a mere moment. I turned around, face forward to the yellow oblivion. Take me, dear sun, take me God, instead of my ashes leave pink glitter as a remnant of me. Let the glitter gleam, sparkle, as though your eyes once had, as my eyes will always shine for you, as they always have, as I hope they always will, as I leave behind my mourning love for you.
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