A new trackless train of thought - tracked.
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From the outside looking in, I may as well be drowning what I fear the most. Work, routine, tight schedules…lifelessness. My livelihood has been condensed into but an atom among these drones that surround me.I reek of boredom and my cranium is heavy, burdened by meaningless subjects like the bitchy girl next door and the dining hall menu. My crippled heart mourns for my creativity, or lack thereof. My thoughts were robbed of their spirit as was I, and I can’t help but think that this shall be the end of me.
Death, I suppose, is too dramatic an end, so maybe a notch down in the spiral of the abyss that is death will suffice. A pinch of hope. Hope that maybe I will linger in this empty moment by dwelling in the past. Hope that maybe someday I will find a light that will carry my soul out of this misery and lift me up on my numb feet again. Hope that maybe I will run my stubby fingers into crystal clear streams of vivid imagination once again and run into the greener grass on the other side with my bear exploring feet to search for new lovely feelings. Hope that maybe they will find me instead, and make my brown skin glow like the Saharan sunset dust swirling to the enchanting music and motion of the wind, the whispers of sweet nothings and psalms from the gods themselves… because a little hope never hurt anyone.
Where has it all gone? I ask myself as I dip my not-so-delicate frame into a heavy bed cover. Snuggle as I might, no position is comfortable anymore. I resort to lying on my back looking up at the top bunk, recounting the planks across for the hundredth time. With each plank, I give it a number and a name, then a place a feeling there and move on to the next one; a number, a name, a feeling…1092, Leonard, impatient. 857, Rhyan, regretful. 3, Amber, lonely…and it goes on. There are no positive feelings, I conclude, and so I start over. 4983, Jo,… joy. Full. Joyful?!
I let out a small sigh. It is no use. I turn and sink my sullen face into the pillow until I find it difficult to breath. I stay a little longer, and I can feel my body tense up to fight my urge to lift my face. A little longer, I tell myself, and I hold on to that particular feeling I get at that exact moment. A feeling I seek in the dark, silent, sleepless nights, accompanied by nothing other than my pulse slowly depreciating and my mind slowly opening to a twisted combination of peace and fear. I am nowhere near what anyone would think I was doing, but pretending I am just to see if I would know how it felt to think I was not worth -
My body gets the better of me and I gulp for air trapped within the pillow. It courses through my dry throat and I begin to cough. Suddenly I feel really lame and a bit stupid, but the fresh supply of air gives my brain a sort of rush, so I hold it for a bit. This new feeling is nice and cool, so I linger in it while it lasts with my eyes closed and a little smile pasted on my face. Hopefully after this, I will get some sleep. I already doubt this, though.
He may not sound familiar, but I have a…well, I have something I want to say about him.
I have never met him. How could I, when he lives on the other side of the world. He found me here, on Tumblr. One of my first followers. He was also one of the very first people to actually wanted to get to know me. Through my writing he thought I was smart and interesting. He writes too - he expresses himself in a unique, eloquent manner. Every so often his photography captures beauty and feelings that cannot be expressed with words. He is very modest about it too. He would like to travel to Africa someday and he loves to meet new people and make new friends from all over the world… I’ve been bad and have not been in touch with him for a while.
Peter had a car accident. Something about a truck being parked at the wrong place in the first place…I could only make out so much whilst attempting to stalk his facebook after seeing the shocking news. One of the victims of the accident didn’t make it. He is in a coma. Though he cannot respond yet, Peter has opened his eyes and that is great progress.
All I ask is that you pray for his recovery if you believe and/or put him in your good thoughts. Maybe send some love and support if you follow him and if you don’t, you can send some via his blog here (http://creat1vem1ndz.tumblr.com/ in case the link redirects wrong).
Not many people notice my posts any more so maybe re-blog? Thank you.
Peter, come back soon, ok?
Thank you everyone who is still following me. Thank you new followers for following. I’m barely on here ever since I started college, but knowing there are people out there patient enough to wait on my dribbles of writings to appear makes me very happy and encourages me not only to try write more often but to do the things I used to do that made me happy before. I feel like it is all worth something after all. So thank you, and if this is me disappearing again, have a very Merry Christmas and a super duper New Year…
Couldn’t put it better
People don’t change how they love. Stop expecting them to. Love is not something you live up to. Stop feeling bad when people don’t love you enough. People lie. Stop believing everything you hear. People are selfish. Stop being so selfless. People are weak. Stop being their rock—no one wants to live on a rock. People are mean. Stop pretending they aren’t. Love is not a curse word. Stop loving people who think it is. Love is a journey and it is work. Stop loving people who make you carry them to the finish line.
Stop loving anyone.
Loneliness is much more tolerable when you are actually alone.
I want to be loved. Who doesn’t? I want to wake every morning and know that the arms around me hold me in their heart, too. I want to blush at how I feel for another mere being like me. I want happy thoughts of us. I want perfection in their eyes. Perfection. Maybe that’s where I’m going wrong. There is no such thing as perfection. I mean, what if I lose myself in this delusion and they don’t love me? What happens then? What happens when I have given them everything I can and more and I get nothing back but despair? I don’t want to ever lose myself ever again, for I don’t know if I would be able to find myself again. It was too hard and it took too long to find me the last time. I hated me, then I was told how beautiful I was, and I learnt to love me slowly. I am not willing to lose that for anyone.
Am I asking for too much?
I don’t give up, even though I know I should. I’m stupid enough to start a lively conversation hoping, praying that something I might say will flick that switch you’ve hidden somewhere deep in your sculpture of a heart left to fill up that empty space in your chest, and it will melt that solid marble into something I can work with. Is it not heavy, that chunk of marble? And what of that massive brick wall of a mask you carry with you on your head and shoulders, like you have no friends to bear it with? I want to hammer it down because it lies to your stubborn mind; you are not made of rock nor clay, but flesh and bones. No, I will not lie, I can never be yours the way you want me to be, but I can be everything else. Why would you risk losing who you are for a fickle heart like mine? Why won’t the man I knew resurrect from this pain you claim only you’ve known?