unavoidably deranged
Find a Conversation
| Sat, 04-09-2005 - 3:26pm |
The persistent feeling of uselessness which often covers my nightly dreams, and the few confined memories I have of her face and the taste of her mouth, confuse me to the point where my sanity slowly slips away from me and there is nothing I can do to stop it.
It's like a thousand little faeries all looking back at me with their sad little eyes, all of them trying so hard to help me not lose consciousness whenever I think of her, whenever I fall back into this world with my arms stretched open and that piercing empty look in my eyes.
I'm sitting by myself, in my world, praying to god to give me strength when I am weak, when I get lost in imagining what that kind of love means, thinking that the bestowed memories I have of her will be enough to help me transcend into another plane of existence, fooling myself into believing that they alone will help me be the man I wish to be.
It is no use. Losing the power of pretension brought upon by her ruthless words has left me dried and speechless. Maybe... maybe I was washed away from her body like a lip print on a shirt. Maybe it was that easy. Maybe these hands of mine that hold inside such stories of might and courage have no real warmth to give. Maybe I am not as infallible as I once thought.
I can't recall the moment when reality stopped working for me, in a way it seems like it never really did.
All that I remember from these days of quiet isolation is a collection of thoughts that now seem to transcend into the ether, feelings that once seemed strange and unfamiliar to me. This is not my life you are seeing. This is someone else's dismembered reality, replete with disturbing moments of sorrow and pain.
Don't misunderstand me, I am not a philosopher, on the contrary, I am a man who is deeply attached to images and sounds.
There was a moment not so long ago when, for a brief time, I felt my most intimate dream come to life. It was a day when all the beauty and tranquility in this universe filled my heart completely and explicitly, a night when all my moments of solitude suddenly didn't matter any more. But that moment is gone now; it turned out to be nothing more than a dream. A dream I will always cherish inside of me, in the deepest, most private corner of my heart. It will remain in a place where it can't be touched by anyone or anything.
So here I am again, the lonely man once more, scared that all my fears and all my weaknesses are slowly coming back to haunt me. I feel weak in my solitude, living in an everlasting state of stupor, scared and confused, tired of not having someone inside of me, in my heart. I am so tired of not being loved. Right now I just need someone to hold me, someone to tell me everything will be all right, that I will make it somehow. That it will happen for me, even if everything inside of me tells me otherwise.
I saw seventeen couples today when I was in walking down the streets on my way home. Seventeen. Seventeen couples holding hands, embracing each other, exchanging looks and laughter. But what strikes me is not the fact that I saw that many, but that I actually counted them.
I don't know it that makes me simply peculiar or unavoidably deranged.
Thanks for listening.
Frank

Wow, Frank, you should be a poet!
I don't know what happened or why, but my first thought was wow, her loss.
marichiko, great advice and words. "How many single women or women in two's and three's did you pass while you busily counting up those 17 couples? I bet quite a few.' That's so true!! Sometimes focusing on the painful things shuts our eyes to the reality that is is indeed a really big world out there.