A short story i wrote that was written to avoid finishing my editing of my other main project.
Dear You,
As I looked through her glassy eyes I wondered what would happen when it was my time to die. If I could make its dark waters calm with but a stare like her. That moment destroyed me, and I hid beneath myself till now because thats all I have ever really had. And its dawned upon me, its sank into a final decision, the act that would commit me to the one thing I could not fear because of its unknown depth. Im before its banks and feel no calm.
When I looked at her folded face I saw nothing holding on. An apathy of her soul that finally consumed her, relinquishing a flame that had stood her up before the world. I asked her what it was like, what laming sense produced now inside her, and she just stared at me with a peace that was absent of emotion. What was she thinking as its mutation distraught her body? What would it be like when it was place for me to feel her pain? To know that the following breath would be my last, that my flame too would flash out before the banks of an unknown crossing.
I prayed to God almighty for her. But looking into her eyes I knew she had abandoned the light. It took me years to understand, but I feel now the same grace in absence, just as her now dead thoughts. Why is nature this way? Why must we contend a fruitless fight with death? I think she saw immortality reveal itself, and it was not as she had faith towards. Yet still that calm in her eyes reflected out towards me through her stare, and I know why she felt alright by herself. For I too now feel an echoing loneliness that I wish I would of known years ago. I feel better than I ever knew was possible, even now at this closing time.
They had told me this life was just the beginning. That my loyal heart would cross me to the body of a newer world, one free of the pains of this. That I could be loved by one whos care unbound infinitely over the whole of time. But one who had impregnated heartache within me for the selfish actions of prior years. One who allowed my mothers suffering before her loyal stand. I felt no other world setting in her sight, in the grey tint of that mornings sky that stretched out across my place. Her pupils shook me that day, and I felt like she was trying to tell me something with her drying skin and shrinking energy. Speaking to me through her eyes blank calm. But I have not come to terms just yet, and I still grip onto my life with feeling, yet my bodies sleep comes soon despite my hold.
Sadly though her dying heart is not what inspired me to write upon these pages, and, actually, its far from it. My mother would not of wanted the end I have now concluded. I too will soon feel regret if it has not yet aroused itself in me. My eyes shine now and I am happy once in a long while, but I believe I take my final moments to write this for the sake of others minds to not feel the disposing will that shed inside me to create my poor decision. Maybe my death can capture all, my dying mind being a source for those to know a happiness I before had just abandoned.
To what is this death I lack till then soon come? I hold no true answer, only minor propositions and inane ideas. No wisdom to its unknown border or possessing inevitability. I simply do not know what lies beyond, and, for thus reason, I contain no dread to its coming hands. And my death is on my own knives, my own waning hand. But I cannot lie when I say that I dread the passing of this single world, of my few friends that will strive on with their effort to continue. I must write fast, think to the speed of light to furnish my message; else I may be overcome with my unpainful sleep before I wish.
What of non-existence as I approach my condemned fate? Its hard to gaze across. That these thoughts and pages will no longer be, that I, myself, will cease to be. But you, the reader, will be left this letter I wrote just for any of your eyes, but to me it shall no longer be as it is, or be it at all. Its incredible, truly incredible to judge upon this fine line of darkening contrast with the end; for me anyways. It seems easy to conceive a God to make it less unimaginable. To make the unknowable into definition, into a truth. But its becoming too intricate, too man-made to judge the absent Being of the beyond, and I can no longer draw myself upon the organized to see something that shows no realness, no entity. Or one that would condemn us to pain and suffering because a man and a woman acted upon what makes us human, what makes us different. One that would make things harder because it wanted a bunch of tiny voices filled with the sorrow of awareness to praise its deeds. But, simply; I do not know, I do not care. I dont care about the beyond, I care only with the fact I now leave my boulder at the bottom of the hill.
And what was the decision that made me kindle my life now to ash? Well, it was a number of things, all of which satisfied me in such a way that I would make this untimely plunge. Each brought me further to the brink, to a harboring of hopelessness deep inside my views, and, looking now upon my experiences with those events, I looked through a side of despair I have just now escaped. These tiny voices of my own mouth have made things much harder, caving me into the nagging vices of life. Not recognizing at all the satisfactions I could of held if I could of only helped myself when it was productive. And now I stand before the wall for my rash decision, and my regret is dawning upon me.
Its been this way forever, or, at least, as long as Ive seen the way I have. It was a present even that final day upon my mothers bed as she riddled her silent whispers into my eyes doors. But what has coursed me towards swallowing the pills now dissolving in my body began in a transforming angst yesterday, in probably the saddest day of my life:
I [wash my mouth][wash my mouth][wash my mouth][wash my mouth]ed it all up, and I tried telling her I was sorry, but I cared more than I knew she did, and I fear she merely used it as an excuse to get away from me. You said you would never forgive me, but if you read this memoir of a lonely guy; please forgive me, because I really did care for you even when you said you never wanted to speak to me.
I got too drunk, too impaired, too horny And now heartache for what Ive done to you writes itself across every one of my features since the moment I awoke next to that stranger. Now all I have is your hand in but my memory, and your tears that wet my own. I can never leave you behind like your own turning back. Im sorry its over, and Im sorry that you left me with such ease after you swore you loved me more. You possessed me, and you were the only one who ever tried to set me free. But, even you couldnt break the locks I have too late hammered off. Ill miss you up to my final dream, and, maybe, you can feel amorous. Just know they will never care as I do for you.
Never had I cried in my life. Even mother said I didnt even hold tears when I entered into the world. Not even at my mothers death did I shed woe from my innards. And I believe last night, waiting to escape into my un-reflected thoughts, I proposed the idea that has now become all too real in my belly. Things changed about my life so quickly, so rashly, so wrong as she walked away for others. And, suddenly, being a wallflower lost its perks to me.
When I walked down my schools hallway this morning all I gazed was a sadness equal to my own. A hidden despair that creased across everyone. It didnt discriminate upon race, upon social structure or of their clique. It was there waiting to spring upon them at a moment of recognizing their limitations just as it did to me.
It was a persona we have learned to hide from others, to bury it away in fear of what they might think. Rapping it up as unappealing drabble, its the seed I now open upon these pages. What if they could know these thoughts that slide away? What might have been done if they could of known this sheathed plague thats killing us? We cannot escape. Were all really quietly dying self-created suicides, why has it become so?
The thing is; it seems I alone seem to know, who sees this as it is. Watching as it robs us of joy. I pass into an abandoned night as a single observer. I mourn as it takes each expansive life from its beholder, and it has driven me to brink upon the water. Maybe though its supposed to remain hidden for the reason of what I felt when I crossed paths with it during todays waking morning. Maybe this sadness should remain lost in my imagination; but I fear its too late for such ignorance to fathom me. And maybe that angst is something more than just the lesser-feelings in life. A being that gives living something realer than even itself. Maybe the despair is our humanity, shaping us into one gigantic identity as individuals.
And Ive realized this knowledge is unavoidable to me because I have thought about it for my entire life. And only now do I see how complex it all really is, and it chills me with revelation I wish I never had to produce. What if I had never undergone these questions that produce my somber awakening? And I have most certainly awoken to see anew. These philosophies of life and struggle now give me answers, and my previous theories tear with my new insights--if only I could of felt this sooner. The thoughts themselves though scare me, and I wish I could be abdicated from their hold. To have a surgeon crack my skull open and let me be asleep for once. But I know I cannot be cured from my contingent disease. I have condemned myself long ago to its creation, and just recently does it free me, erasing my childs eyes to reality. And to think it was just today! Its all happened so fast.
Now Im spread to the point in which I swallowed hard, to my steps into my room and the stealing of my fathers sleeping pills. Just before I had been assured to take action with my moving hand and chasing tongue.
Of the few friends that I hold dear, two connect lips with each greeting and moment they are together as we, the others, watch their content attachment. Upon the cold ride home they sat before me, their book-bags thrown beneath their feet as they embraced in spirit and touch. Her blue hoodie was placed beneath his holding hand, their faces parted not as they showed caring comfort, and I could but watch from detached woe. I must have been overwhelmed with wallowing thoughts, for I saw not the beauty drenched out before my sight. Only a notion that I felt no love as their yearning hold laid out cinematically in front. And I chose to put still my beating heart in self-loathing of my place.
Regret now pushes up around me, no words or raining hopes can save me now. Too late I now see upon the free-side of that despair that punished me heavily. Beauty holds inside my slowing heart, and for the first time I feel satisfied. Its as if I had been dead my whole life before my growing joy filled the mingled thoughts of me. Ive awakened to find I havent lived at all beneath the weight of worry and agonizing irrelevant fears.
I guess its not fair, but whatever; I should of approached things better. A joy in every possibility has revealed itself to me, and I feel [wash my mouth][wash my mouth][wash my mouth][wash my mouth][wash my mouth][wash my mouth] because I couldnt experience it a bit more before I sway my eyes beneath my lashes. I might as well tried to enjoy things even despite the fact it might certainly not exist anymore beyond. Sunrise stretched across my night time scene, and I hope you dont have to pass through this night.
I dont want to die, I really dont. Not because Im scared or because I fear the beyond or my ending life. But because I know there is something worthwhile after-all; and thats because I am all my own, after all of this. I think my mother was trying to show me this, to make it so I could be my own before I left; unlike her. To replace the emptiness she parted through with a self-created infinity.
Love,
Michael
Dear You,
As I looked through her glassy eyes I wondered what would happen when it was my time to die. If I could make its dark waters calm with but a stare like her. That moment destroyed me, and I hid beneath myself till now because thats all I have ever really had. And its dawned upon me, its sank into a final decision, the act that would commit me to the one thing I could not fear because of its unknown depth. Im before its banks and feel no calm.
When I looked at her folded face I saw nothing holding on. An apathy of her soul that finally consumed her, relinquishing a flame that had stood her up before the world. I asked her what it was like, what laming sense produced now inside her, and she just stared at me with a peace that was absent of emotion. What was she thinking as its mutation distraught her body? What would it be like when it was place for me to feel her pain? To know that the following breath would be my last, that my flame too would flash out before the banks of an unknown crossing.
I prayed to God almighty for her. But looking into her eyes I knew she had abandoned the light. It took me years to understand, but I feel now the same grace in absence, just as her now dead thoughts. Why is nature this way? Why must we contend a fruitless fight with death? I think she saw immortality reveal itself, and it was not as she had faith towards. Yet still that calm in her eyes reflected out towards me through her stare, and I know why she felt alright by herself. For I too now feel an echoing loneliness that I wish I would of known years ago. I feel better than I ever knew was possible, even now at this closing time.
They had told me this life was just the beginning. That my loyal heart would cross me to the body of a newer world, one free of the pains of this. That I could be loved by one whos care unbound infinitely over the whole of time. But one who had impregnated heartache within me for the selfish actions of prior years. One who allowed my mothers suffering before her loyal stand. I felt no other world setting in her sight, in the grey tint of that mornings sky that stretched out across my place. Her pupils shook me that day, and I felt like she was trying to tell me something with her drying skin and shrinking energy. Speaking to me through her eyes blank calm. But I have not come to terms just yet, and I still grip onto my life with feeling, yet my bodies sleep comes soon despite my hold.
Sadly though her dying heart is not what inspired me to write upon these pages, and, actually, its far from it. My mother would not of wanted the end I have now concluded. I too will soon feel regret if it has not yet aroused itself in me. My eyes shine now and I am happy once in a long while, but I believe I take my final moments to write this for the sake of others minds to not feel the disposing will that shed inside me to create my poor decision. Maybe my death can capture all, my dying mind being a source for those to know a happiness I before had just abandoned.
To what is this death I lack till then soon come? I hold no true answer, only minor propositions and inane ideas. No wisdom to its unknown border or possessing inevitability. I simply do not know what lies beyond, and, for thus reason, I contain no dread to its coming hands. And my death is on my own knives, my own waning hand. But I cannot lie when I say that I dread the passing of this single world, of my few friends that will strive on with their effort to continue. I must write fast, think to the speed of light to furnish my message; else I may be overcome with my unpainful sleep before I wish.
What of non-existence as I approach my condemned fate? Its hard to gaze across. That these thoughts and pages will no longer be, that I, myself, will cease to be. But you, the reader, will be left this letter I wrote just for any of your eyes, but to me it shall no longer be as it is, or be it at all. Its incredible, truly incredible to judge upon this fine line of darkening contrast with the end; for me anyways. It seems easy to conceive a God to make it less unimaginable. To make the unknowable into definition, into a truth. But its becoming too intricate, too man-made to judge the absent Being of the beyond, and I can no longer draw myself upon the organized to see something that shows no realness, no entity. Or one that would condemn us to pain and suffering because a man and a woman acted upon what makes us human, what makes us different. One that would make things harder because it wanted a bunch of tiny voices filled with the sorrow of awareness to praise its deeds. But, simply; I do not know, I do not care. I dont care about the beyond, I care only with the fact I now leave my boulder at the bottom of the hill.
And what was the decision that made me kindle my life now to ash? Well, it was a number of things, all of which satisfied me in such a way that I would make this untimely plunge. Each brought me further to the brink, to a harboring of hopelessness deep inside my views, and, looking now upon my experiences with those events, I looked through a side of despair I have just now escaped. These tiny voices of my own mouth have made things much harder, caving me into the nagging vices of life. Not recognizing at all the satisfactions I could of held if I could of only helped myself when it was productive. And now I stand before the wall for my rash decision, and my regret is dawning upon me.
Its been this way forever, or, at least, as long as Ive seen the way I have. It was a present even that final day upon my mothers bed as she riddled her silent whispers into my eyes doors. But what has coursed me towards swallowing the pills now dissolving in my body began in a transforming angst yesterday, in probably the saddest day of my life:
I [wash my mouth][wash my mouth][wash my mouth][wash my mouth]ed it all up, and I tried telling her I was sorry, but I cared more than I knew she did, and I fear she merely used it as an excuse to get away from me. You said you would never forgive me, but if you read this memoir of a lonely guy; please forgive me, because I really did care for you even when you said you never wanted to speak to me.
I got too drunk, too impaired, too horny And now heartache for what Ive done to you writes itself across every one of my features since the moment I awoke next to that stranger. Now all I have is your hand in but my memory, and your tears that wet my own. I can never leave you behind like your own turning back. Im sorry its over, and Im sorry that you left me with such ease after you swore you loved me more. You possessed me, and you were the only one who ever tried to set me free. But, even you couldnt break the locks I have too late hammered off. Ill miss you up to my final dream, and, maybe, you can feel amorous. Just know they will never care as I do for you.
Never had I cried in my life. Even mother said I didnt even hold tears when I entered into the world. Not even at my mothers death did I shed woe from my innards. And I believe last night, waiting to escape into my un-reflected thoughts, I proposed the idea that has now become all too real in my belly. Things changed about my life so quickly, so rashly, so wrong as she walked away for others. And, suddenly, being a wallflower lost its perks to me.
When I walked down my schools hallway this morning all I gazed was a sadness equal to my own. A hidden despair that creased across everyone. It didnt discriminate upon race, upon social structure or of their clique. It was there waiting to spring upon them at a moment of recognizing their limitations just as it did to me.
It was a persona we have learned to hide from others, to bury it away in fear of what they might think. Rapping it up as unappealing drabble, its the seed I now open upon these pages. What if they could know these thoughts that slide away? What might have been done if they could of known this sheathed plague thats killing us? We cannot escape. Were all really quietly dying self-created suicides, why has it become so?
The thing is; it seems I alone seem to know, who sees this as it is. Watching as it robs us of joy. I pass into an abandoned night as a single observer. I mourn as it takes each expansive life from its beholder, and it has driven me to brink upon the water. Maybe though its supposed to remain hidden for the reason of what I felt when I crossed paths with it during todays waking morning. Maybe this sadness should remain lost in my imagination; but I fear its too late for such ignorance to fathom me. And maybe that angst is something more than just the lesser-feelings in life. A being that gives living something realer than even itself. Maybe the despair is our humanity, shaping us into one gigantic identity as individuals.
And Ive realized this knowledge is unavoidable to me because I have thought about it for my entire life. And only now do I see how complex it all really is, and it chills me with revelation I wish I never had to produce. What if I had never undergone these questions that produce my somber awakening? And I have most certainly awoken to see anew. These philosophies of life and struggle now give me answers, and my previous theories tear with my new insights--if only I could of felt this sooner. The thoughts themselves though scare me, and I wish I could be abdicated from their hold. To have a surgeon crack my skull open and let me be asleep for once. But I know I cannot be cured from my contingent disease. I have condemned myself long ago to its creation, and just recently does it free me, erasing my childs eyes to reality. And to think it was just today! Its all happened so fast.
Now Im spread to the point in which I swallowed hard, to my steps into my room and the stealing of my fathers sleeping pills. Just before I had been assured to take action with my moving hand and chasing tongue.
Of the few friends that I hold dear, two connect lips with each greeting and moment they are together as we, the others, watch their content attachment. Upon the cold ride home they sat before me, their book-bags thrown beneath their feet as they embraced in spirit and touch. Her blue hoodie was placed beneath his holding hand, their faces parted not as they showed caring comfort, and I could but watch from detached woe. I must have been overwhelmed with wallowing thoughts, for I saw not the beauty drenched out before my sight. Only a notion that I felt no love as their yearning hold laid out cinematically in front. And I chose to put still my beating heart in self-loathing of my place.
Regret now pushes up around me, no words or raining hopes can save me now. Too late I now see upon the free-side of that despair that punished me heavily. Beauty holds inside my slowing heart, and for the first time I feel satisfied. Its as if I had been dead my whole life before my growing joy filled the mingled thoughts of me. Ive awakened to find I havent lived at all beneath the weight of worry and agonizing irrelevant fears.
I guess its not fair, but whatever; I should of approached things better. A joy in every possibility has revealed itself to me, and I feel [wash my mouth][wash my mouth][wash my mouth][wash my mouth][wash my mouth][wash my mouth] because I couldnt experience it a bit more before I sway my eyes beneath my lashes. I might as well tried to enjoy things even despite the fact it might certainly not exist anymore beyond. Sunrise stretched across my night time scene, and I hope you dont have to pass through this night.
I dont want to die, I really dont. Not because Im scared or because I fear the beyond or my ending life. But because I know there is something worthwhile after-all; and thats because I am all my own, after all of this. I think my mother was trying to show me this, to make it so I could be my own before I left; unlike her. To replace the emptiness she parted through with a self-created infinity.
Love,
Michael
