Whalesong

Your words like whalesong float through my ears, soothing me. They swirl around my head, now emptied of all thoughts other than those of you. I remember the day everything changed. The day you started meaning more to me than anything else. Maybe I could be accused of neglecting all of the things that are supposed to be important. Maybe the accusations would be true. But for now, at least, I am absorbed in you, completely taken over by your words, your smell, the feel of your skin, and you alone. I could stay like this forever.

 

Success

I am down on my hands and knees, crawling, clawing at the curtains, reaching for the window, eyes closed, mouth closed. The smoke is surrounding me. I cannot see it. I try to open my eyes. They sting. My hand meets the cold, smooth texture of metal. My fingers close around the key. I reach upwards again, reaching for the window ledge. Reaching for the window. I struggle to find the lock. Eventually I find it. I turn the key. I push the window open. I grip the window ledge firmly and lift myself up. I climb out of the window. I fall.

 

Noise

I press my ear to the door. I can hear whispers on the other side. One voice belongs to a male, the other a female. I can’t hear what they are saying, only the general tone and pace. They are whispering in such a way that gives the impression of a sense of urgency. Maybe it is just excitement. Either way, it makes me think about their stories. How they are separate. How they are intertwined. What secrets they are hiding. Even so, I know that if I were to find out, I would wish I’d never asked, no matter how the story goes.

 

Matchboxes

Her scent lingered in the air. He inhaled deeply. He could almost still feel her hand on his, although by now she was long gone. Still, he could not quite bring himself to move, in case it somehow destroyed the reality of their meeting. Forget it. She doesn’t care. You know she doesn’t. Indeed, that would appear to be the case. There had been nothing behind her eyes that day. No glimmer, no hint of feelings of love or passion. No suggestion of her even wanting to see him again. But there was something in her touch, something in the way she smiled when she said goodbye, that suggested maybe he did have a chance.

 

Post bag

I close my eyes and it’s autumn again. I drag my feet through the dead leaves. The rustling sound is comforting. They stretch on for miles, and as I turn I see a blur of browns, oranges and deep reds, all over, surrounding me. Other than that, there are only trees in the process of shedding their summer coat, half naked, towering over me. The rain begins to fall. There is no warning. It comes down hard and heavy, each drop that falls onto my head causing me to lose my balance slightly. Yet it doesn’t bother me. On the contrary, it feels like home. Part of me longs for a storm. Thunder. Lightning. Something big. ANYTHING big. Something significant. Because right now, it feels as though nature has to live my life for me in order for me to have any life at all.

 

Releases and remedies

By the time she caught her breath again, all of the pain had subsided, every last angry thought had melted away, and she was left to sit in blissful silence for a short while, until the effect wore off and it all seemed like a waste. However, for that brief moment where her troubles seemed to have disappeared, she felt alive again for the first time since longer ago than she could remember. She did not realise at the time, but this was a feeling that she would revisit again and again, each time the effect weakening slightly, but each time she would tell herself that it was worth it, just for the few seconds in which she could feel as though things would be okay.

 

Flesh-eating maggot

I found this written on a piece of paper in my room earlier:

The November gloom drags in with it heavy sighs and distant memories of days almost forgotten. The happiness of those days has long since turned to sorrow with the changing of the seasons. A change that is, for the most part, an unwelcome one. Perhaps, though, there is some glimmer of hope. One opportunity not lost that will soon bring comfort to the winter days to restore some faith in humanity. Maybe. Or maybe the next season will come as this one did, with disappointment as an inevitability, and all good memories as just that; recollections, vague, and almost dream-like.

 

Goodbye, September

Chalk lines stretch out as far as the eye can see along the path that leads away from the playground. Children leave this sanctuary out of curiosity, to follow the lines down the path to discover what lies ahead. A light rain gently sprinkles a comforting moisture over the surroundings, a stark contrast to the imminent disaster that will occur regarding the curious ones. The laughing of the children grows fainter as their outlines fade away into the distance, never again to be seen in this world.

 

Accident

The kids are all destroying themselves these days. Each breath taken is a struggle against death, and each tear shed is a struggle against life. Gasping, in pain, one by one they fall down. They have broken themselves, and like so many other precious things, they cannot be fixed.

 

Musings, ponderings, and products of thought

Here, dreams and reality merge to form a new state of being. One where it is impossible to tell what is real and what is not. Clouds dance in the sky, making dark shapes across the mass of grey. A face here, a horse there, a tree in the distance. What is real and what is not? Am I real?