30. epilogue
i keep remembering
how persistently you tried
to untangle me
but it hurt too much
& i was never strong enough
to untie your knots
you undid me,
once,
it left
marks
"But we didn’t meet at the wrong time, we met in near perfect splendor. I smiled with my mouth full of metal and his tiny wrists flicked to grab in between my pudgy fingers, then. He had a semi bowl cut if he didn’t use gel and that was still nice to me, then, too. And the fact that I had boy short hair didn’t throw him off guard either, or maybe, just a little. But about the few things we agreed upon was the timing. The conditions and timing for us were perfect and that summer was perfect. I just don’t recall when things began to change. And suddenly, growing no longer seemed so gradual and lovely, suddenly, growing up became serious and frightening. And before I could have a say, we both fell into our own sanctuaries of being vulnerable and being vulnerable means to be afraid. So before we could even pause to breathe or take a break, we both became so afraid. And perhaps that’s when timing decided to give up on us, or rather, let us go on our own little ways just to dip our toes and enjoy the scenery without the pressures of what’s-meant-to-be-and-supposed-to-be; whatever fate ought to be. But even still, after all these months apart, I still miss my best friend."
I grew up surrounded by people telling me, subliming even that I have to be tough and submit to things I have no power over. Talking about D’s survival of the fittest, that’s their way of implying it. As you aged, you subconsciously realize that you’re wounding life in the very maxim— I mean if its insinuation holds more frequency than someone telling you they love you, it’ll sure be embedded in your consciousness. Breathing is a constant channeling of every optimism you muster so your faith won’t be dislodged by the accidents of life. And it doesn’t help if there are pre-expectations— you’re the one’s older so you’re supposed to comfort the others, or it’s just distance you emotional moron, he’s not dead yet or you’re the man here so wearing your broken heart in your sleeve is tantamount to weakness and crap like that. What people, the world in entirety fail to realize is that everyone is entitled to feel broken when they are broken the same you’re supposed to be happy when you’re happy. I miss a particular snippet of friendship, and I most likely won’t have the chance to redeem it. And that’s the saddest part of it. When a shot at redemption is uncertain, an ember burnt, a fragment that is menaced by oblivion. Moments like these, no amount of comforting words from people, no amount of wisdom that’s supposed to guide you through, no amount of sun can lift your spirit. It’s one of the life’s facades where you just submit to the apparent bleakness. And I believe, the brim of bleakness is acceptance, and the zenith of acceptance is commensurate to peace. And peace as we know, means, you’re alive again.
"I won’t blame you, instead
I will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I offered you
what was left of me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you who made
me laugh again."
I will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I offered you
what was left of me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you who made
me laugh again."
Charles Bukowski (via leukocytes)
A Literate Passion: Letters of Anais Nin & Henry Miller, 1932-1953
- Juan Antonio: The trick is to enjoy life, accepting it has no meaning whatsoever.
- Cristina: No meaning? You don't think that authentic love gives life meaning?
- Juan Antonio: Yes, but love is so transient. Isn't it?
"Rule number one: Never believe anything anyone tells you in bed. Beds are safe spaces where lies take root and grow, grow, grow all the way to the ceiling until, suddenly, you’ll find yourself surrounded by nothing but lies. Overgrown weeds you have to whack your way through just to get out of bed. Some people never leave though. Some people are comforted by the lies so they sleep with them every night. This can’t be you. You have to get out of bed. As fast as you can."
Ryan O’Connell (via kenkz)
