August is Over

august-is-over:

I’m starting to understand why I feel the way that I feel right now. For as long as I can remember I’ve always been one to wear my heart on my sleeve, and I’ve always been someone that loves really hard, I give it my all, and I fight long passed one ideally should, I fight when any other man would have walked away and tended to his wounds. Instead I keep fighting, while the wounds I have become infected with an infatuated and insane inability to just walk away. I fight. That’s what I do, only this time I realised that I just can’t anymore, I just don’t have the capacity to anymore. I have far too many wounds to tend to and now my heart is under lock and key. I’m coming to the realisation that I never want to wear it on my sleeve again and I never want to give it to anyone again, and I probably never will, not all of it anyway.

My heart has belonged to one woman for the past 6 years. She took half of it when she asked me who the hell I was, and I told her I’d be whoever the hell she wanted me to be. And the other half when we were on the phone, long into the early hours of the morning, the night before she was due to leave and start a new life in a whole other continent, she said my name, the way only she says it. Paused for a second, then stuttered “I… I… I…” before saying she loved me and the let out a sigh, and I said it back, and it sounds weird but I heard her smiling, that beautiful, amazing, captivating smile. Moments after which, she cried, and so did I, I remember because that’s the only recollection of happy tears I have, and probably the only recollection I will ever have.

But the thing is those are two pleasant memories among dozens of unpleasant, venomous, stinging ones, and now I feel nothing. I used to miss her voice everyday that I didn’t hear it, I used to think about her every single day and now I don’t, all of those feelings gone just like that, into thin air, and well, it’s not worth it. She should never have had my heart, and I should not have been so foolish to give it so easily. But they say you can’t chose who you fall in love with, or when you fall in love, I guess that’s one of the things I hate about love, but then again it’s what makes love so beautiful. The thing is I just can’t anymore. From her I learnt that it’s possible to keep your heart guarded, to make it harder for love to surprise you and take you prisoner, you can keep your heart under lock and key, you can protect it, at least for longer than you can by wearing it on your sleeve, perhaps love finds its way into even the tightest of locked chests, but you can prolong your plight by not letting it fall off your sleeve at the sigh of a smile. And you can make it so that part of your heart always remains your own.

I’m starting to understand why I feel the way that I feel right now. For as long as I can remember I’ve always been one to wear my heart on my sleeve, and I’ve always been someone that loves really hard, I give it my all, and I fight long passed one ideally should, I fight when any other man would have walked away and tended to his wounds. Instead I keep fighting, while the wounds I have become infected with an infatuated and insane inability to just walk away. I fight. That’s what I do, only this time I realised that I just can’t anymore, I just don’t have the capacity to anymore. I have far too many wounds to tend to and now my heart is under lock and key. I’m coming to the realisation that I never want to wear it on my sleeve again and I never want to give it to anyone again, and I probably never will, not all of it anyway.

My heart has belonged to one woman for the past 6 years. She took half of it when she asked me who the hell I was, and I told her I’d be whoever the hell she wanted me to be. And the other half when we were on the phone, long into the early hours of the morning, the night before she was due to leave and start a new life in a whole other continent, she said my name, the way only she says it. Paused for a second, then stuttered “I… I… I…” before saying she loved me and the let out a sigh, and I said it back, and it sounds weird but I heard her smiling, that beautiful, amazing, captivating smile. Moments after which, she cried, and so did I, I remember because that’s the only recollection of happy tears I have, and probably the only recollection I will ever have.

But the thing is those are two pleasant memories among dozens of unpleasant, venomous, stinging ones, and now I feel nothing. I used to miss her voice everyday that I didn’t hear it, I used to think about her every single day and now I don’t, all of those feelings gone just like that, into thin air, and well, it’s not worth it. She should never have had my heart, and I should not have been so foolish to give it so easily. But they say you can’t chose who you fall in love with, or when you fall in love, I guess that’s one of the things I hate about love, but then again it’s what makes love so beautiful. The thing is I just can’t anymore. From her I learnt that it’s possible to keep your heart guarded, to make it harder for love to surprise you and take you prisoner, you can keep your heart under lock and key, you can protect it, at least for longer than you can by wearing it on your sleeve, perhaps love finds its way into even the tightest of locked chests, but you can prolong your plight by not letting it fall off your sleeve at the sigh of a smile. And you can make it so that part of your heart always remains your own.

The dye of a flower, it is delicate yet it is what gives the flower it’s beauty. It is what draws and commands the attention of many, for a flower to have its scent noticed it must draw the attention of the eyes that fall upon it. 

In a lot of ways we as people are like flowers, and as we grow our personalities become our hues. The thing is though that dye is delicate, and life has a funny way of bleaching out our personalities, and our being, we can fade, we can become washed out. When pressed too hard those colours we hold can transfer, and we lose some of it, through love, through friendship, and family. Sometimes that colour is given willingly, at others it transfers at the breaking of a heart. 

I guess that at a young age, soon after we blossom and find ourselves we are at our brightest. But as we grow older the harsh realities of life act as bleach upon us, and we fade. We tire of life and it’s never ending turmoils. But it’s worth remembering that every now and then the sun shines brightly, and we it does, it can rejuvenate that hue our personalities attained, sometimes those hues change as we as people change, and while life can be tiring, relentless and foreboding, there are moments when life can let our personalities radiate with colour.  

Music is the essence of life, it exists in every prescript of our life. It forms the backdrop to our fondest memories, and even some not so fond ones. You tend to remember the song you were listening to when you had your first kiss, or other momentus events. But you know, how you listen to music is just as important as the memories you attach to them. 

There are some of us who listen to music in a given order, we like to know what comes next, then there are those who like to be surprised, so play their music on shuffle. I am of the latter. The thing is how you listen to music defines how you live your life. There are those of us who love order, who construct perfect playlists, devote time and effort into doing so and know exactly what will come next, the problem is life isn’t always so orderly. Sometimes you expect a song to play and life delivers something entirely different, sometimes the playlist ends without you realising, and you get thrown into a situation that you don’t know how to handle. And it’s hard to deal with because you didn’t get exactly what you expected. But I mean it’s not all sunshine and fun for those of us who live life on shuffle, not knowing what’s next is great at times, but then sometimes we get lost, and we get burned when life plays us a song that’s too painful to hear. Or get frightened by not knowing what comes next, I guess sometimes it’s nice to know what the future holds, it’s just that we aren’t so clued up as our playlist loving friends. 

I guess life’s about finding the balance between the two, sometimes it’s nice to not know what comes next, but other times it’s comforting to settle down to a familiar playlist, or album that guides us to where we want to go. 

I used to think that the point of dating, and being in relationships is to find the one, you know, to find the person you want to be with for the rest of your life, and I’d always get to the point where I’m with someone and I couldn’t see a future so I’d break it off. But recently I’ve come to the understanding that the point of dating isn’t to find a permanent future. No, it’s just to have fun, get close to someone, share things you wouldn’t otherwise share with someone else, create fond memories, and grow as a person. And hey if a future should carve its way out of that, then great, and if not at least you had some great times. 

1: Spending more time drunk/intoxicated than sober. Needs no explanation.

2: Cleaning… clean, rearrange your room, decide you don’t like it and change it back, throw out old crap you’ve been hoarding for years. Whatever you want because you think it’ll take your mind off it.

3: I don’t believe in rebounds, it’s wrong to enter into a relationship when you’re not yet ready, so lots and lots of mindless animal sex and one night stands. (FYI this doesn’t have to stop when you’re over said person)

4: Delete… Deleting all remnants of said person from your life, conversation histories, presents, txts, everything.

5: Get creative! Channel your hurt into art or literature, and if you suck at that (god help you) but admire the art of others. 

6: Mourn… when you realise all your hurt is completely and utterly gone.

7: Move on… Only when you’re ready to, don’t let anyone else tell you it’s time, you’ll know when it is. 

8: Look back and try to remember it as a learning experience and not something you’re bitter about, remember the happy memories. But leave it at that.

Her feet dance like ink across Shakespeare’s paper.
Her eyes like notes in a mozart symphony,
And her voice like a lustful melody.
And her lips like a delicacy in chefs mastery.
Her touch like steam in a roman bathory.
And her taste? Like the apple eve ate.

A few years ago I went on holiday with my then girlfriend. We spent two weeks sleeping in the same bed and we always fell asleep spooning or cuddling in some way. Since then I’ve never really been able to sleep without having something to cuddle, usually it’s a pillow. Just something to hold to my chest. I guess at the time she was the person I cared about most and for those two weeks, it felt like I was protecting the thing I cared about most, and in turn she was there to protect me too. I guess now it’s like I need to feel as though I’m protecting everything I stand for, by guarding my chest. Perhaps protecting my heart from being broken. The thing is though as soon as I fall asleep I will drop this pillow, let it fall to the ground. Perhaps because deep down I know I don’t need to hold on to anything and it’s futile trying to protect anything from fate. It’s just something familiar to fall asleep to.

I feel like a right loser for admitting this on tumblr :$ ha.