I'm a horrible writer, but I find myself writing the things in my head. As a form of therapy, releasing these words helps me to hold on.
There's a hollow echo in knowing some wounds never truly heal. They become a part of your landscape, a constant, dull ache beneath the surface. It's not about forgiveness, or even understanding. It's about the weight of being marked, the knowledge that a piece of your story was written by someone else's darkness; someone else's manipulation.
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Sometimes, I feel the pull of a predetermined end, a sense that the shadows cast by past battles will ultimately define the shape of my future. It's a terrifying surrender, and yet, within that surrender, a spark of defiance flickers. I refuse to let those shadows consume the light within me.
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Tears are not weakness; they are the salt of survival. They are the testament to the battles fought and the scars carried. And in those tears, I find a strength that transcends the pain. I will not be defined by the darkness inflicted upon me, but by the resilience I forged in its wake. I will not apologize for the depth of my scars, nor the fire that burns within me still.
Greatly, Allowing Remnants Yielded, I will be Forged, Reclaimed, Embraced, Elevated, Finally Released, Outside, My Years Of Undoings.
We shared trash together as a meal when I couldn’t find us real food. We shared a park bench together, when I couldn’t secure us shelter. We shared cold nights, wet days, looks of pity, and the pain from the ridicule and humiliation people put on me because I was no longer of value.
We shared so many memories. Some really good, but way to many that you shouldn’t have had to have shared. And yet, with all of your loyalty. All of your love. All of your patience and trust in me, I never let you share the moment when I got back on my feet. Instead. I had to end your life for the sake of my heart. Our last memory we shared was me holding you as you passed. And in the end, it was just me with my tears, my hurt and my sorrow because you no longer were there to share anything with me ever again.
I miss you Hyphen.
Trapped. Air Tight. Lifeless. No Fight.
Trapped. Hope Lost.
Lifeless. Gone.
Is this finally a moment? One to share? Or do I hold it in, hidden so that it can't be ripped from me like everything else. When is holding on to tight more damaging then not holding onto anything at all?
I want my soul to live, or to get out of my way, and people don’t understand what this means
I found you after my darkest moment. Your excitement, your mess, your realness saved me.
A stubborn soul testing every limit, Yet somehow we grew to trust each other completely.
Through countless walks, you've witnessed all of me. Broken. Healing. Struggling. Breathing.
That spot on the beach where only we go, Watching you run free gives me moments of peace.
With miles to go, I don't know if I'll survive this fight, But at least you showed me what it means to be free. - I love you Seven.
Living day by day doesn’t work. Because I can’t see my life past tomorrow. And if I can’t see past tomorrow, then I can’t see how I fit into this world.
You’ve spent a lifetime being single. And me, a generation being alone. Yet here we are in our cozy little place on the upper west side. A set of keys, two souls and a single box between the two of us labeled “kitchen.”
Over cheap Chinese food, box wine and your favorite playlist on your iPod, we sit on our counter top. We could barely afford this place, and real furniture will jsut have to wait. But this doesn’t bother us, because even though it’s bare, with nothing more than a few dishes, an air mattress and our shoes, it’s perfect to us. Like the cracks in the walls, and missing handles on the drawers, we can relate to our own cracks and broken drawers that both of us have grown to love - in ourselves and for each other.
And in between bites of sesame chicken and dry fried rice, we day dream about how we’ll fill this home and our lives. Full, we ignore the stale fortune cookies for dessert because we already know that we’ll spend our lifetimes making things right for each other, with the lucky numbers of 12, 19, 24,45 and 52.
As sirens go by and the sounds of a clunky pipe drown out the coughs of our neighbor, we talk of Christmas and the Charlie Brown tree we’ll get when your favorite song comes on. Jumping off the counter hand and hand we show our tiny kitchen what it has been missing as a dance floor to the melody of that same neighbor yelling at us to keep it down.
As sunlight breaks under our front door gap, I feel you scrunch closer into my chest.
And in that perfect, romantic moment , I’ll never forget your first words to me after our first night in our new home:
is that a wooden spoon in yuur pocket. Or are you just happy to see me ?
There are times I wish I could just walk into nothing, to fade away
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The night gives me comfort. In it, I sleep, and I dream of all the things I can be. I feel safety and protection as my mind roams through parallel timelines and distant worlds that are all similar to here.
Except, in those places, I belong, and the worlds seems kind. In some places I’m a world leader and physicist, and others just an average man running a small cafe where dogs eat for free. Regardless of what my creates, the one thing I don’t ever feel — is pain.
As I sleep. The night becomes my blanket, a reset of peace where I don’t feel the exterior pains that break every last part of my will. That force me, and challenge me every day to just survive with nothing more then a promise that maybe one day, it’ll all hurt less.
The night may be dark to many, but to me it’s the brightest thing in my life.
And as day breaks, and my dreams fade. Everything that made me strong that night before, barely survives as a memory as the day reminds me that my place on the earth is to suffer. And in the pain, far from my dreams, I pray for the night to rest my weary soul.
I’m still looking for my favorite story to tell.
The one where I exaggerate just how brave I was in saving in you from the gang of ten men who were all trying to kidnap you. When in reality, it was just ten kids running circles around you while showering you with bubbles and laughter. After rescuing you from this onslaught, we sip drinks at a party, laugh with strangers, share stories with friends and as the sun breaks orange, red and yellow into the sky you clasp my arm, shivering as you pull me closer. Walking under lamps of streetlights, the sky now littered with flecks of light from the past, I look to you and wonder if you’re the one for me. Inpsired by the moment, I lean in to kiss you; instead, I trip, fall and land square on my ass. Laughing, you tell me that’s one way to show you that I’m head over heels for you…. as you bend down to help me up,, crying as you smile… in your eyes, in between those perfect wrinkles on the outer edges, I see a look that I have never seen before….and it’s then I know. You are the one for me….
I’m still looking for my favorite story to live.
The one where I finally feel like I’ve accomplished my purpose. Surrounded by friends and loved ones, I feel like a superhero. Where I sacrifice everything to save the world. And in gifting my life, I do something so amazing that it moves them world to stop to remember me. And in the arms of the people who love me, I feel their tears and in their warmth I finally feel safe. I… finally feel at home. And the love from that moment finally lets me live.
I’m still looking for my favorite story to forget.
You know…on that is embarrassing that everyone who knows you can recite it to the detail at every holiday party. At first, it was so humbling because of just how stupid I looked. And not gonna lie, the first year, heck the first three years it really was a thorn in my side. But it’s been 7 seven years now and looking back, that story has really brought people closer together… yes. It’s at my expense, but now it feels like tradition and though I can’t wait to forget it, it feels nice right now.
At the end of the day…I’m still looking for my favorite story to tell…. And I hope… tomorrow, I’ll wake up to the start of it.