i never knew if it was a good or bad thing that i seemed to care so much. sometimes it got me caught in situations, battling with my own psyche trying to find a middle ground to just be normal and simply exist. and other times i couldn't make myself care even though i knew i probably should. and then there were the times that i pretended not to care, but i knew i cared way more than i should so the only way to keep that inside of me was to make it seem as if i didn't care for it at all.
i've learned that's how we all are in some ways or another. i only realized this when i had to make myself say goodbye without actually having to say goodbye. it's within my understanding to know when it's time for me to leave. and perhaps this is why i always feel like i don't belong wherever i am. humans are weird creatures. liking and dislike one another, not voicing opinions in the right places. maybe being told i wasn't wanted here or there would honestly result in a different me.
i never said a goodbye in my life that didn't hurt. but it's one of those things that i pretend not to care about. but i don't think we control what comes into our lives. i come and i go, no one asks for me, no one can deny me. but no one can tell me how scared they are of me.
life. what a precious thing. i guess being death also means having to be the generalized, fearful thing. maybe i smile too sometimes. and just like you, i have nonexistent goodbyes to say, and smiles to hide ironic pains behind.
she looks at herself in the mirror, sighs and makes a quick stroke again.
it's the worst because she knows you are the pain, but ironically as her lips utter your name, her heart is content with your memories. yet she is so restless. look at what you have turned her into -- a lovelorn, constantly searching, shattered and tattered. what happened to the work of art she'd once been?
her hair is delicately strewn, her eyes search for bits of you wherever she goes, her smile fools the outside world that is unknown to the matters of her heart. her mind knows you are unhealthy. her heart finds solace in you. her soul is forever changed. they think you're a joke, she knows how real you are.
her fingertips are lightly stained with various colors of paints, thrown across the table. lined up on the edge are cups, filled with water -- each housing a variety of paintbrushes. it looks like a true tragedy. she holds a brush up to the mirror, tilts her head and smiles the saddest smile letting herself know she's there somewhere. she tries to find herself in the reflection of her eyes, but she only finds brown, dull darkness. she tries again, trying to recreate the masterpiece you'd once turned her into.
you, the artist. she, the muse.
you don’t have any power
but what about that power
within the smile that lights
up on your face --
how can you not illuminate?
you say you feel empty but
there is not any sort of emptiness in you –
in fact there’s so much that we don’t have names for it all.
your problem is that
you don't know
what your problem is.
you miss so many people
that sometimes you forget
to miss yourself.
you forget that you're walking
in a storm
in search of
and that's what they never tell you
i am on one side of the river
trying to drain it of its power
and there you are
trying to bloom flowers
amidst the heavy storm.
your soul is like
the color of water
after being poured
evaporated drained freezed
in the end as
clean and clear
as if nothing had ever touched it.
and even though everyone
tells you not to
you're building a house of sticks
for one twig may be weak on its own
but you believe that
when you put them together
there's no strength that can harm them
but you forget
that fate is that one force in the universe
without an exception.
you're just so hungry for the essence of life
that you left behind
this feast laid out for you
in a hurry you forgot
to simply lift
the veil off of it all.
eyes. eyes are full of betrayal, the window to our soul we fail to curtain from the light of other eyes. eyes wandering, hearts feeling what the mind cannot.
you may look into my brown orbs and see something that no one else seems to see. or you may look into the same eyes and see something that everyone sees. eyes are so -- different. i cannot hide anything through my eyes. you look through my eyes and you will see that i am much more than what i show you.
i look into your eyes, and i see it all. all the pain, all the heartbreaks, all the happiness, and most importantly, all the kindness. but you never say the same for me, because sometimes things are better left understood and unsaid.
and so i see right through your eyes, they're the window to your soul that you fail to curtain from the curious light of my own pair. and you don't like to show that you're broken, but that's okay. because in some way or another, we all are.
you just forgot that you see more reflections in a broken mirror.
and so as the tension between us grew, i began to see a little more of me in you.