Broken strings & Pretty things

The world, seen through a young girl's eyes.

Archive for the category “Reflections”

Mike.

I feel as if things will forever be left in this continuous time gap; this half-way house between conscious and unconscious worlds, where I don’t know whether words fell on deaf ears, or entered the final beats of your heart. And now that I don’t know whether God exists, I don’t know whether you still do too. I can’t find you in a night sky or in the closed walls of my wardrobe, and I don’t want it to be that way.  I don’t want you to be an unfinished memory in a faded photograph. I don’t want you to be that snapshot of bandages and tubes and a forgotten phone call. I want to remember the sound of your voice and the brown in your eyes and the ability to drive to your house. I want you to have air in your lungs.

Wednesday.

It’s these kind of days that I live for- the days where the spaces between seconds stretch until infinity feels like something tangible; when the world is golden and pure and nothing exists outside of this moment. When we shout at the sky for clouds taking away our precious sunshine; when our senseless chatter flows out into a simple melody. These are the days I turn the page to when life gets that bit too much: these in-between moments when we stop living in the past or working towards our futures; when we actually savour the taste of the present. In these precious seconds, I no longer care about any current uncertainties, because everything I need is right here.

ingelnook:

untitled by 夏先生 on Flickr.

(image via tumblr)

The last few days. (August)

It’s always the last few days: they sparkle and glimmer like no others. Everyone is caught up in some kind of golden exuberance, dragging their fingers across this sepia-stained clingfilm, making sure they can feel every last second. Eyes are stretched as widely as they can go, as if we can somehow vacuum in every last speck of this place into a space that is fit for hand luggage. Even our breathing deepens, hyperventilating like we can somehow store this peace somewhere for the cold months, when Winter’s reality is too much.

These moments, they cling to you; cradle you in a golden canvas. We hold onto them because we know it’s not going to be the same tomorrow; that soon we will wake up in a faraway land, in a bustling city, and we will miss the sweet smell of pine or the crystal green of fresh water. Soon floral prints will fold in the face of wool tailoring and, soon, we will all just be grainy faces stuck on bedroom walls.

Soon enough, these present glories will become faded memories of a better time; a time when days were long and the sunshine was bright. Because none of this real, none of it was ever real. But that’s summertime: when the romantics finally get their chance to live life like they had always dreamed.

(image via incurablystircrazy.wordpress.com)

Ellen.

I hope you know that my thoughts eternally tick over to the image of you. There, in the folds of my mind, I always imagine you to be happy. And I pray that is the case for you right now. I pray that your head falls restlessly into bed every night, and that each day is as striking as the sunset which closes it. I pray that the universe continues to smile upon you, adorning you with a thousand stars’ songs. Your joyfulness means more to me than my own, and I hope each day awakens you with drenches of sunlight on your face.

And I want you to know that there are days which are lonely and it feels like the drain drops will never cease. There are days filled with desperate bus journeys and endless empty pavements. But I want you to know that there are also many days filled with endless sunshine and golden memories and stomachs bloated with laughter. Those are the days to live for, for these dreary days are but a mere smear of cloud on this vibrant city’s skyline.

(image via tumblr)

Enough.

This glimmer is warm enough to heat my bones through these cold winter days. I would happily lay here and touch fingertips and feel nothing more than the warm whistle of air pass through his lips. Cradled in arms with dreamy-glazed eyes, I will continue to search the delicateness of his features. This soft gap between our bodies: that is just enough.

This just right.

image via tumblr

‘So happy I could die’.

Hurtling through the velvet skyline
this moment stretches, making us infinite.
Lungs too filled with air to cope
to even blink
to even mutter.
Here, I could lay my body.

Green crystal waters and lofty pines;
purple mountains eclipse Continental sun.
We soak our skin until everything floods out.
Letting the water pull us in
just enough.
Here, you and I could lay our bodies.

Glittered words and glowing lights
eyes wide in a fixed bloom
they speak words no one can hear,
dancing alone in a sea of pulsating figures.
Here, we could lay our bodies.

And if it weren’t for outstretched hands
and garlands of long-cherished names;
If I could just sink
without leaving an unexplained grave
I would lay my body here,
Drenched in this golden exuberance.

(image via tumblr)

The last day.

You get a strange feeling when you’re about to leave a place. Like you will not only miss the people you love but you will miss the person you are now at this time and this place, because you will never be this way ever again.
Azar Nafisi

Untitled.

And she loved him. She loved him with every closing of those familiar sliding doors, every glide of cigarette smoke, every last chime of wine-stained laughter. And she missed him, waking with that dull ache of reality as morning crept across her body. His smell had long left her room, but his mark was still scorched on her skin, in a place that could never quite heal.

But time had passed and drastic decisions had long been fixed in their ways. He would never love her. His passion began and ended on those cold January days, whilst she carried on burning. She made sure the flame lay low, deep inside where no one would discover the burning ash inside of her lungs. So she filled her days with empty conversations and tried to put people in gaps that just didn’t fit. She tried to forget him, she honestly did. He was tirelessly flawed and tarnished and painful, but he had a grip on her that her fingers just couldn’t undo. He was a masterpiece of broken glass; a summer’s day without any shade. And without knowing, she would always hope for dark eyes in the countless puddles of blue.

She continued burning away, putting away everything they had once shared at the back of her wardrobe. That is where her monsters would live. And she slowly accepted that she would forever be but a snowflake in his great avalanche; an exhale of smoke in his grand ballroom.

(image via tumblr)

Oceans.

The sea rolled her way onto the shore, and brought you back to me.

Her breeze hung on my hip like the way you held on when everything was crumbling apart between us. It brushed my lips like the time I didn’t know it was our last kiss, and then again against my cheek like when you thought I was asleep. I was encompassed by a golden glow, reflecting your gaze when everything was okay: holding me in the shine of the promise that we would make this next season. With it, I felt the warmth of your body pressed against mine on cold winter nights.

And as the winds picked up, I remembered that evening when words where thrown and things hit harder than home. I remember the salt water flooding between us, filling those open miles we had always managed to cross. I felt your muscles seize and your skin became cold. Everything became blurry; everything became pale. As much as I held on, I couldn’t stop the waves breaking us apart. And, for the longest moment, I thought I was drowning.

And for a while, I was. The freezing waters climbed down my lungs and filled my insides with numbness. All I could do was watch the waves pass over me, suspending me in this halfway house between sinking and making it through. Over time, I managed to raise my lips above those waters: just enough to know that it wasn’t the end. I just kept floating until I found somewhere stable. There, I finally learned to stand again.

And that morning I stood on that beach, and watched the currents pull you far, far, away.

(image via tumblr)

Love blindly.

Love blindly and love like you have never loved before. Love with wide eyes and dimpled cheeks and outstretched arms. Love their stories and their hopes and their family’s names. Soak in the sound of their laughter. Sing to their favourite songs. Retell their favourite jokes. Love people like it’s your first love: tell them your secrets, your childhood memories and make plans for the future together. Keep nothing hidden, and delight in what makes them laugh.

Love them even more as you start to uncover their flaws, because you can finally see that they are real. Love their impatience or their closed mind or their lateness. Love the way they can be a snob over music, or coffee, or books. Love them unequivocally, because it’s these little bits which make them so wonderful. Spend evenings listening to their tone deaf singing, and eat their burnt baking, and hold them up when they are too drunk to stand. Continue loving them when they let you down, or make a careless comment, or lie, because people make mistakes, because no one is beyond forgiveness. Throw them parties without expecting thank yous, write them letters when you expect no response, continue hugging them when their arms fall loose. Love them because you know that they are still there, somewhere underneath that mess which has mounted between the two of you.

Continue loving them blindly until they wipe mud on your eyes and you can finally see. Then watch them unfurl into the person you never thought they could be. Love them anyway. Continue to come over to their house, and make them tea, and listen to their problems. Keep laughing at their jokes, even when their voice has lost that melody. Constantly remind yourself of the good times: the folk concerts, or when they held you when everything was breaking down, or becoming part of their family. Keep loving them and keep making excuses until you finally stare at their face and realise how ugly they have become.

And then, I don’t know how to go on. Do you keep living for the days when the sun shines on their face; when the person you used to know knocks on your door? Do you continue to love the person that they used to be; the person that they claim to be? Or should you stop waiting for them to come home?

Because, either way, it’s going to hurt.

 

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