“The wind ripped around my face slowly pulling tears from my eyes.”
-The Over Thinker
“The wind ripped around my face slowly pulling tears from my eyes.”
-The Over Thinker
The sayings that slip my lips are released with minimal formulation, tossing me into a whirlwind of confussion and frustration.
As I said a phrase I did not understand the power it had held till hours later.
My words are not simply words that affect me. But they are words that formulate conclusions upon my head by others around.
I always ran when conclusion about who I am had become relevant. But what I didn’t recognize was the conclusion of my personality, designed by my words placed into someone else’s mind.
A mind with more clarity and substance than that of a fog ridden intolerable mess. What seems clear to me and makes sense in my mind. Is utter chaos in the one I have drug down with me?
All I want, is to talk with you. talk with you before the earth tilts and reveals the lumanince of the sun. And long after the sky becomes littered with cosmic glitter.
All I want, is you to rememeber my name. the name that would so delicately roll off your lips.
All I want, is for us to talk like we use to. long letters, handwritten passion, the detailed explanation of a dreamy composition.
All I want, is to kiss your cold lips and catch the breath as it evacuates your lungs.
All I want, is to hold your hands, and pray with you. To only pray that I may have you in my life once more.
Something has consumed my mind with the thought of you. I cannot seem to cleanse any mental image without your name appearing.
I am not sure what this means. But I will continue to pray for your and your boyfriend. a prayer of peace, comfort, growth, and love.
With my sincerest thoughts I will maintain the attitude of keeping my distance and respect the reality of the “I want mentality.” For I respect relationships and do not see to destroy what is loved.
Longing for something I want. . .
Signed the Sincerest.
This word is just as confusing as the meaning it self, scratch that. . . This word is just as confusing as my past interpretation of love.
I have recently found out some things about my past relationship I did not want to know. Things I have had to come to reality and conclusions with. If I let the battle of heart and mind taint my blood anymore it would surely cause septic shock leading to the demise of my heart. I felt something today, something I never felt from this person I once called ‘the love of my life’.
A stranger has stumbled into my life and has shown me more sincerity than that of which was expressed by you. Someone I barely know, someone who knows my full name, and where I work. That is all this person knows about me.
Today she gently rested her hand on my face just looking into my eyes. her deep blue eyes had been filled with peace. The feeling and trembling fear that was brought to me was something I can not explain. It was a feeling that my mind had fabricated but never felt. Not even in the slightest of ways in my toxic relationship. It was not a feeling of fear as we know it, if anything all fear was gone. It was as if the gentle hand with purple nail polish was delivering a gift of compassion into my life. Compassion of which I have never felt or experienced.
I am not ready for a relationship for I am still terrified of people wanting to get close, but this small meaningless touch on her end was perfect.
All I know about this girl is her full name, where she works, and the sincerity in her heart with a small touch.
“That was her.
Pure, lucid, evil.
I’d sleep all right with that on top of me.”
Fascination that had found me dumbfounded. To be pure is to be blemish free, to be lucid is to be known, to be evil you must lack the other two qualities.
I was once told, “I’ll protect you.” I remember being told this by a 110lb girl that stood before me holding my hand. I laughed slightly because I am a 250lb man that has always been the protector. But then quickly I gained composer over my laughing, because this was something no one had ever told me, not even my father. Sure he demonstrated it but never said it.
These powerful words rolled off my lovers lips. Never had I ever seen someone stand up for me like her. She had a way with words that demanded respect in the most polite way, but also cut with fiery to any ropes of affliction attached to me. She would strike my foes down with several well placed words. No one had been that person to protect me. That was an action of love.
“I will always care for you.” Never utter those words again, because the way you talk to me does not resemble ‘care’ it doesn’t even resemble a friend. You treat me as I am your foe now. I do not udenserstand why, I never cheated, never left you, never abused you, never let you down, never let your tears fall, never let you take on troubles alone. I rescued you. . . so you had once said.
But now you speak to me as if I owe you something.
Just remember I said I’d always be here for you together or not and that is something I ment. You’re the one that is not.
The way your lips fall shut against your white teeth, speak louder than your words. Watching your eyes sink down into despair, I see something I haven’t seen before. I can see behind your walls. It’s as if I am a little kid peering over the neighbors fence. As I stand on top of sketchy structure built with the toys I could find in my yard.
I know that I can only make this climb once and as I make it I understand that everything below me will collapse. But to me it will be worth it, worth it in this past moment. But that is the past moment. What about this present moment? As I look back I wonder why I risked it all for such a small glimpse. If I am to build a structure again I’d build it tall enough to pull my self over the wall and into your life. For once I break those walls, I should never cause them to be rebuilt. But that’s exactly it. I though I was peering over the fence, when in reality I was looking through the cracks of life. As you continued to reinforce your thoughts. You never seemed to trust me enough to let me in. I erased every woman from my life and never talked to any woman but you. Because I wanted to show you I was trustworthy.
I never gave you a reason to not trust me. I took really good care of you, never hurt you, never abused you, never left you, always comforted and provided everything you could ever want. You never gave me a reason why you left. Maybe me doing everything you asked was getting old. Or was it maybe because the amount of love that I showed you scared you. And you knew you could not repay it (even though you never needed to)? Or because you allowed someone behind your wall as I was doing everything to get through to you. Someone you liked before me… Which now leads to the question; why did you settle with me for two years? Everything was better than ever till you reappeared in his life.
Getting over you. . .
I sit amongst some of the strongest people in gorgeous sceneries. Realizations strike my mind out of no where. Tears form in my eyes but never fall down my cheek. Instead they sit on the cusp of my eye lid. As I shut my eyes, my eyelashes absorb what cannot come out, blurring my vision from what I need to see. Yet the tears never fall. . .
Why am I crying? I am not physically hurting, I am not thinking of you. But then again my mind tends to think of you when I deny the thought of wanting to think about you. My subconscious controls my thoughts, body, and heart. Just as when you’re mad and driving home from work. You are so use to the route from work to home, that your mind is thinking about your anger and frustration. But your body is driving you home. Once home you realize that you never remember anything about the drive.
But I am not crying because of you… Kind of…
I am crying because you took barbwire and wrapped my heart so tightly
that it constricted who I was, who I am, and who I was becoming. You tried killing the good qualities I had, that you didn’t like. For example my heart for family and people. You never admired it, but you knew it took precedence over you at times. I aloud you to wrap that barbwire so tightly around my heart that now it hurts to breath or become passionate about something. Because my heart cannot pump an adequate amount of blood to my extremities to perform the heartfelt qualities I fell in love with years ago.
These tears are not from pain, anger, or thoughts, they are tears of relief. Because slowly that barbed wire is falling off and my heart is becoming stronger. Never have I had tears like this. All I know is I am healing now.
please excuse any spelling errors it is late and I typed this on my phone.
The absence of existence is not death… It’s just nothing. The definition of nothing is “having no prospect of progress; of no value.”
Being sorry is a word that is meaningless. It’s a conglomerate of letters that make a word we use flippantly. Yeah ill be honest I use it more than I should. But my definition of sorry is this.. Sorry is a meaningless word that has no value (nothing) till equal and relevant action is bestowed upon it to notice a change needs to be made in order for ‘sorry’ to exist. In simplicity you are not sorry till you recognize the problem and proactively adjust your actions to make sorry a non existent phrase but a powerful action.
This is something I have learned and am still learning. In my past I was always truly sorry but had no clue how to fix sorry. So the word filled the void of where action should be found.
To flow on a similar tangent of anger, when family asks “how are you” you want to open up and spill your heart felt pains. After all they are family. But as you start you see the eyes roll, and attention snagged by the moving car cruising down the highway. After 15 words into your pain you stop, smile and say “sorry, it doesn’t matter, how are you?” That sorry is truly empty and will never be filled because it is truly meaningless. Never have I been able to express more than 15 words of pain from this breakup, before I lose the attention of my audience.
But yet here I stand in a gravel filled parking lot watching you encourage a friend as I sit here completely dead and callous to everything around me.
My hands are not clean and groomed. My hands are dry, cracked, scarred, bruised, and beat. You always complimented my hands. “I love the tenderness of your hands, because it shows you work hard to provide and take pride in your work.” That’s the truth. But I am not sure if you noticed the blood that dripped from the tips each night. I am not sure if you noticed the bandages I used, so that I could do it all over again the next day for you. I remember lacing my fingers to yours. Your hands so gorgeous, soft, pure, delicate and manicured. Mine so rough like the wilderness after a wildfire… I remember waking up in the night searching for your hand. It was easily found 7 inches to the right of me. I remember being nervous at mixers and youd reach for my hand knowing i was nervous. I found comfort in your hands. Now I search… Nothing is found, I reach for comfort and my consciousness pulls my hand back into my pocket, where I fiddel with the lint gathered in the pocket seems.
Now my hands suffer working for all you took. No longer in my possession, I still work my hands to the bone. Just to provide for a life and possessions I no longer own. My house is a prison and my flatware mocks me as you run around the country leaving me to suffer.