Begalinis Viltis

Dear You

20111108 @ Tuesday, November 08, 2011

That would be your request that I look away, right? Because this is the only way you can manage. Posts may or may not have anything to do with me but you are trapped in this way of processing and whatever else. And I followed you into this techno-emo dust storm trying to find us both, to support and protect someone I loved, and continue to love very much. You're so vulnerable sometimes. Signals more than mixed. Can you blame me? But listen. I get it. I have for a while. When you want me back in your life, and sometimes I think you do, you've got to find another way to reach out. Normal channels. Please. Start anywhere. Don't be afraid to reach back out. So many layers; gotta be able to let all or nothing approach go. We'll figure something out.I love you. I really do.

~~ps : I wrote this for you and I think you know who you are.~~

Labels: I Wrote This For You

The Garbage I Became

Tuesday, November 08, 2011

Now the TV's on at 3am and you're sleeping on the couch, because you can.

Now the plate is where you left it, no one else is going to move it for you.

Now the politics of blankets are gone.

Now the people on the radio sound so far away.

Now you've got no plans when you wake up, just keep on keeping on.

Now the morning fades to light, to twilight, to night.

Now you rinse and repeat.

Now you remove the sleeve and remove the film.

Now you remove the sleeve and pierce the film several times.

Now dinner takes exactly 2:30 minutes.

Now the earth hurtles through the universe around a giant ball of fire.

Now none of your acquaintances know they're really your only friends.

Now none of your friends know they're just acquaintances.

Now you've got to get used to being alone, like when you're born, like when you die.

Now you're free.

Now you can do whatever you want.

You just have to do it alone.

Labels: I Wrote This For You

Do You Remember?

Tuesday, November 08, 2011

Do you remember when
Dad's shoulders were the highest place on earth,
mom was your hero
and goodbye meant only until tomorrow.

Remember when
getting high meant swinging on the playground
and the only drug you ever knew was paracetamol.

Remember when
lollipops turned into cigarettes,
soda turned into vodka,
kisses turned into sex
and your close friends became strangers.

The world was simpler then
yet we couldn't just wait to grow up.

The Dark Room

Tuesday, November 08, 2011

In this room. With the curtains drawn. With the lights off. The moon shining outside. This is where I hurt the most.
This room suffocates me.

Please. I beg you. Don't let me drown.

Tuesday, November 08, 2011

Not only did I not write this for you, but I wrote it for myself. I figured it was about time I started thinking for myself. You can spend your whole life trying to please other people, until you realise the only person who has to live with those decisions, those choices, compromises and sacrifices is yourself. So this is the beginning of the end, or the end of the beginning. This is where it starts

Guilt

Tuesday, November 08, 2011

It eats away at you,
the guilt.

When you're so used to doing nothing wrong,
you misplace your defence mechanisms.
The ones that make you strong.
When you're so used to doing only right,
you misplace the fight.

It eats away at you,
the feeling,
the one that reminds you where you should be.
What you should be doing.

It feels like I've misplaced it all.
But really its just the guilt,
making me feel like I've lost my mind.

And finders, keepers.

Fragments

Tuesday, November 08, 2011

My mind is loose change jingling in his back pocket.
I am divided.
Coins here, and coins there; scattered over the floor, the kitchen bench, travelling with him to and from work, click-clicking quietly to the rythm of his walk.
He's away again tonight and the thunder growls, angry at me for being so lonesome, so dependent.
The rain falls harder than usual; angry at me, too.
Telling me to put myself back together. To collect the coins I've scattered everywhere,to lock them safe in a silky draw-string bag, save them until they melt back together again into a lump of gold and silver.
There are no pixies dancing on the roof tonight; no soft pitter-patter of fairies skipping and holding hands, whispering and singing me softly to sleep.
There are only demons jumping hard, stomping, trying to break through the tiles and through the wood and brick, to slide into my dreams and taunt me.
Jeering faces of elves with wide, black eyes; grins that melt into a nightmare and eyebrows that furrow deep into my soul.
I wonder if I'm mad.
Crazy.
I wonder if there was ever a sanity that I could hold to; claim.
If I dropped it somewhere along the way, and it's been trodden on, walked over, pushed into the dirt under the crunch of tires and feet and if there's a layer of grass covering that little treasure now; long lost, long gone.
I wonder if I draw a map and mark it with an X, if I'll ever find it again.
It's tomorrow, now.

Today's sins have been washed from my hands; dirt swirling down the drain in a blur of soap suds, hot water, and dirt. But I haven't slept, and I haven't forgotten.
I don't forget. I can't.
I take note of everything I've done wrong, each corner I've taken while the map marks straight ahead.
Each smile I've forgotten and each laugh that has escaped while the air sits heavily, declaring nothing but sadness.

You read my words and I feel sad; I feel sad that I slip this sadness into your lives, that I steal a smile you need, and it slides away into the air and disperses; forgotten.

I wish I could forget.

I want to cry, but the sky is crying and the thunder is grumbling and the wind is howling and the air is screaming, and it's all too much sadness for me and for you.

Perhaps I'll collect those coins in my dreams tonight, and I'll polish them with the tears of the rain and I'll make something beautiful from such an angry night.

You're all too beautiful for me to bear

Forrest Gump

Tuesday, November 08, 2011

Forrest, Forrest Gump is a simple man with little brain activity but good intentions. He struggles through childhood with his best and only friend Jenny. His 'mama' teaches him the ways of life and leaves him to choose his destiny. Forrest joins the army for service in Vietnam, finding new friends called Dan and Bubba, he wins medals, starts a ping-pong craze, creates a famous shrimp fishing fleet, inspires people to jog, create the smiley, write bumper stickers and songs, donating to people and meeting the president several times. However this is all irrelevant to Forrest who can only think of his childhood sweetheart Jenny. Who has messed up her life. Although in the end all he wants to prove is that anyone can love anyone.

"Stupid is what stupid does"

Labels: Reviews

The Last Valentine

Tuesday, November 08, 2011

Based on the novel, The Last Valentine, by James Michael Pratt. A young and cynical female journalist learns love may transcend trials and time as she discovers a story that will change her life forever. When war separates lovers on their wedding anniversary Feb. 14, 1944 at LA Union Train Station, Navy pilot Neil Thomas makes a promise he isn't sure he can keep - to return to the train station safe by their next anniversary. For sixty years Caroline Thomas keeps her promise by waiting at the train station until her missing in action husband can finally keep his with the "lost valentine." The message and meaning shows romance and love can be real; worth fighting, and maybe even dying for

This movie, is a must watch. It made me cry,... well almost.

"Now you have my heart. Keep it next to yours and bring it back to me. I will always love you."

Shit Just Got Real

Tuesday, November 08, 2011

"And I know I've said this all before, but opposites attract.
We try and run away, but end up running back."

I am completely taken by this band. And especially this song. Thank you, Rynn! :) You've got me addicted.

Carpe Diem and Press On

The Fear.

Tuesday, November 08, 2011

Okay, so this was just something I came to think about, when I was reading some story. Yeah.

And what if you knew each time you left them, that this could very well be the last time? Every parting could be the last. "What if today is the day we get ripped apart?" How do you cope, having this sickening fear that today is your last day together, what if they die while you're out? You would stop wasting your time fighting. Anger would spark up, and then quickly dissipate with a sadness and a fear to drown it out. Oh god, that raging sea of fear.

You overcome that fear with desire. Every moment means so much more. Everything counts. That last look, that trailing of fingertips across the skin. The way they set down their tea cup. Hearing the sound of their footsteps echoing down a hallway. You pretend that you have all the time in the world, while being painfully aware that you don't. Curling up on the couch together means more than going out to dinner at a fancy restaurant. Commit every sound/smell/feeling to memory. Keep it forever. Hold them with all your heart for as long as you can. Don't miss a second.

Carpe Diem and Press On

The Unforgotten Self

Tuesday, November 08, 2011

Dear You,
I love your laugh. It has such a lazy "It's sunday morning, and I was sleeping in, and you just woke me up" quality to it. I want to put it in a bottle, and store it somewhere inside me, labeled "Things that make me feel good." Because I probably won't get to keep the rest of you. I won't get a single piece of you, so at least let me keep this memory of that laugh. I'll store it next to the way a previous other smiled at me. And the look in the eyes of that stranger that walked past me once. Amongst the millions of good memories, I keep a particular shelf for the ones that seem to actually notice I'm not invisible. I love that laugh. I'd love to have the chance to love the rest of you, but for now, this is all I want.

Me.

Carpe Diem and Press On

Labels: I Wrote This For You