coffeehouse cynics

IMG_0484

we are coffeehouse cynics/too righteous, too rigid to believe

Something short and strange inspired by this song

We fill ourselves up with money, with hatred, with materialistic dreams of grandeur and disposable people. We fill ourselves up with things others have lost, and things which cannot be found. We hide ourselves away inside of this idea of happiness, this sacred, golden beauty, this force-fed aspiration for greatness. It is not greatness, this monstrous dream. It is not greatness. It is a disgusting, grotesque poison. We want to fill ourselves up with the poison of self-hatred, of unforgiving stupidity.

I miss you, did you know that? I miss the ravenous, needy way you drank your coffee, black, dark roast, as if it was going to fix the emptiness that had caved into itself, inside of you. I miss your childish delight, your wide, crooked grin, the one that has haunted my dreams for the past few months. I miss your goodness, because good god, you had a ridiculous amount of it. You just forgot how to find it. I do not place blame on you, for that shortsighted insecurity, for that unprecedented ability you had to forget every good thing about you.

There you go, there it is, that truth you always wanted from me. I am so sorry I never had the decency, the generosity, to willingly give it to you. I wish, more than anything, that I had not been as so obliviously selfish as I was. What a greedy, egregious fool I was, to ever be anything but less than devoted to making you feel okay again. You were everything, the world, the universe, the whole damned galaxy somehow meshed into this dissonant, but inconceivably beautiful, mess of a human being. You tired angel. I love you. I hope you do see that now. I love you and I wish I could have given into that.

I wish I could have said it.

We were fools. We were idiotic, restless children, bones nearly trembling with emptiness, with this exhausted eagerness to see, to live, to prosper and to embrace each other, but we never did. We went too far, we lost our vision in this blinding, blinding darkness. I am so sorry. We were screwed from the beginning, though. Don’t you see that? What other possibility was there, other than this hellish, crumbling palace we built for ourselves, than to come crashing to the ground?

I found your tee shirt, the other day, resting plaintively at the bottom of my closet. Good god, love, you should’ve seen how I trembled, how I collapsed onto my carpet and sobbed, endlessly, bitterly, into that fucking tee shirt. That tee shirt is you, really. Coffee stained, faded cream, and this strange scent of cinnamon and cigarette smoke. You perfect, damn perfect, human.

God. How did we lose this, my love? How did we lose ourselves in this neverending darkness? How did we not see the end of it? There must be an opening at the end of the tunnel. There has to be.

You must have seen it, did you not? Have you finally found that incomprehensible surge of light? Have you found yourself, finally, in death? Have you found what you were searching for?

God knows I haven’t, but goodness, I hope you have.

Advertisements

Home.

here is a poem I recently wrote, out of quite a passionate dissonance of emotions. if you’d like to read more, head over here. thank you.

I am in love with someone who is unaware
of any aspect of my existence

how egregious this pain seems
I am unremarkable in my sufferings
but I miss him all the same

sleepless, hollow nights
there lies an ache
inside of me
in my stomach,
my bones and my ribs,
aching without apology
without a cure

with the weight
of knowledge that you
will never see me
the way that I see you

or love me
as if I’m not made of
paper.

the thing is
you are unequivocally
most certainly
and unbearably
my home

but I
don’t know
if you can build a home
from a stack of cards

and I don’t know
if you can build a home
inside words never dedicated to you.

4:42

this is a short story of mine that I wrote for English class last year, centered around the very broad theme of “catharsis”. it makes little sense and is quite vague but please tell me what you think, and ask what’d you like. please do not steal or post anywhere else as I worked very hard on this last year.  thank you. 

4:42 AM.

My head is hurting and my feet are sore. It’s too dark out to feel the pain, though. It’s much too early to feel anything. I am not supposed to be here, of course not, but I could not sleep and I could not stay put inside of my small, claustrophobic, room. I had to let myself out. I had to.

I am standing at the exact spot where the waves break against the sand, the fine divide between the rugged darkness of the sea and the soft motionless existence of the earth. I used to love that- the metaphor of the break between oblivion and life. I suppose I still do, but in a much different way. I slide off my sandals, tossing them somewhere behind me, dismissing the common necessity of footwear for a time of lesser importance than this.

The night air is dipping down, settling around me, a charcoal tip smudging against the papery sand. I am silent but my mind is certainly not. All I can think of is how this came to be. How did this happen? How did the person that I used to so willingly be become the person that I now so unexpectedly am? Everything is aching inside of me as I slip my toes into the coldness of the water. The temperature is almost unbearable, but all I can think about is the girl that once was. And the memory hurts far more than the death chill.

A slippery smile crosses my lips as I close my eyes, breathing in all of the night and all parts of the wide, unbreakable universe. Breathing in what was and what would’ve been. It is peaceful, surprisingly enough. It is peaceful.

That day when the tears stained my cheeks like cracks in a sidewalk, the outer darkness that surrounded me threatening to choke me to death. The weight of her troubles was passed subconsciously unto me. And I know that she never meant to make me carry her heartache, but I did. I did for too long, and too deeply. Her demons were never meant to be mine, but somehow, they laid eggs inside of my heart and have grown there since.

When the person closest to you breaks, you do not imagine how deeply it will injure you. It does, though. It breaks you in places you did not know even existed until now. You do choose your friends, but you do not choose their heartbreaks. You do not choose their insecurities, or their many, many flaws, or their instinctive hatred that has been relentlessly instilled in them since birth. You do not choose their humanity. You only choose what they allow you first to see. And, after that, all you can ever hope to do is to try to hold onto the person you once believed existed. After a while, though, that weight grows tiresome. That weight pulls you into someone else’s darkness. One that was never supposed to pass into yours.

Is it better, I think, solemnly, to feel complete indifference to everything, to feel absolutely nothing but to thus never feel pain? Or is it better to feel all of everything at once? It is the unspoken and unanswerable question. But I think, now, I have finally somehow answered it. I have felt it all: the grief of your own soul lost, but stitched back together by brand-new needles. The maelstrom of a thousand devastations cleaning your spirit and washing away the disbelief into an understanding for what life really is. It is a ridiculously painful thing, but a necessary cleansing. After all of the vehement madness I have so exhaustedly pushed myself into, I now can say that it is better, to have felt it all, for the strange feeling will lead to understanding. The feeling will burn inside of you until you have absolutely no choice but to allow the fire to grow. There is no other choice, and there never was.

The girl who once was, isn’t anymore. The young, inquisitive girl who believed in saccharine goodness and in the bright, shiny parts of the world, who believed in unconditional kindness, isn’t anymore. That girl, however hopeful, however fervently inspired she was, is inexorably gone. That girl is long dead, not buried, but burnt. And I am suddenly, overwhelmingly, okay with that. It is no longer a terrible epiphany, but a momentous one. I left pieces of myself in every person that I used to love, and now, those pieces are forever broken, but all I must do is find new ones. All I must do is let go of the remains of the past and instead dare to pass into the new world of myself. There are parts of me where the sun will never shine, and this is no longer a disgrace, but an understanding. There is no requirement for perpetual sunlight, not when you are capable of controlling your darkness. Not when you’re at home in your brokenness.

I still miss you, I do. I will never stop missing you. But the water is growing colder and the waves are getting bigger and I need to go back to bed. I love you, as always, but I will never see you again. And I have to live with that, for now.

I turn my back to the sea. I search for my shoes in the pale dawn.

They are long gone.

A Long Time Ago

Middle school was a tempestuous time for me. I know how naive that does sound, because all it was was middle school, a part of life that should be easy to forget, a period of time that that is ubiquitously painful for every awkward preteen, and I do not have such a right to claim that it had a greater effect on me than anyone else. I know that it was simply middle school, trust me, I sincerely do know this. Yet I cannot help but reflect upon those three, quite tragic, years with inordinate penitence. Can anyone help what they possess pain for? Can we ever truly move past our mistakes, and most unforgettable wrongdoings? I do not believe that we can simply “let go” of whatever it is that is ensnaring us in our pasts, notwithstanding the countless songs (cough cough, Frozen) and culture preaching for us to let go of our mistakes, let go of who it is we used to so honestly be, and move the hell on. And perhaps this is a personal feeling, but I do not want to let go of who I used to be. Quite bluntly, for me, who I used to be is not a part of me that I can just so easily and regardlessly dismiss away, banish from myself. I can’t. I wish I thought that I was even able to accomplish such a feat, but I am not a person who likes to lie to myself. And so I know that I will never truly forget who I used to be. Over time, though, I’ve come rather slowly to realize that perhaps that isn’t such a terrible thing after all. Maybe our endurance of ourselves is a sign of strength, not loss, not weakness.

There are so many people who I have lost over the past few years, not in the literal meaning as in the terms of tragedy such as death, but there are losses that hurt just as horribly. And believe me, I have felt these losses all too prominently over the past few years. I never imagined that I would ever hate anything about myself, but I do. I hate abundant aspects of myself, traits of my personality, darker thoughts that cross my mind repetitively, not simply because I have recognized these darknesses in myself instantly, but rather, I have learnt so much of my weaknesses because of what I have been through. In times of crisis, I understand myself better. I know how to anticipate my reactions to certain things.

That’s the thing. The past will never disappear and dissipate into thin fragments that are gone with the wind. That will never happen. I know this. And I know that sometimes, many times, we may want certain parts of ourselves to vanish without a second look. And this makes sense, when you look at it like that. But here’s the thing: why would we want to forget what made us us? All of the strenuous horrors that you may have faced in your life, all of the weak feelings you wish you could surrender to, they make you who you are. But at the same time, they do not define you.

The past does not disappear as it ends. However, the past also does not define who you are. Your present self is who you are, but your past self led you up to the present, didn’t it? Had you made one choice differently, your life could be irrevocably different. And that is somewhat frightening, but also somewhat relieving. What’s life without uncertainty? Why would you waste your entire life questioning the inevitable what ifs and instead question the right now? This is where you are, this is who you are, and every single thing that you have done in your life, every single moment that you chose to spend doing a certain something, have helped lead you to where you are now. And if where you are is not where you would like to be, well, you do have to let go of what you are unable to change. We needn’t burden ourselves with the past, but we also must accept our pasts, because they are the most unchangeable parts of ourselves and our lives.

I miss so many people, so many things that I could’ve, should’ve, would’ve done if I had the chance or choice now. But I don’t. I simply am not Marty from Back to the Future. The past is utterly irreversible. The past is gone, but the future can be whatever the hell you make it to be. Opportunities are rare but they are also present in this world if you can allow yourself to stop holding onto what holds you down. Do not let your past self shove you down. You are worth so much more than a few choices you made, a lost person, a heartbreak or a few. You’re worth trying. And god, this all sounds terribly cliche, and I generally despise cliches, but you know what? Right now, I know that I am using a cliche and I’m owning it. Too bad. It’s one that I believe we must all do at some point in our lives. We must accept our pasts, without them ruining our present.

spotify:user:sofsea:playlist:5QuA1Geng51Gc96xcr8Txa