12.1.2014

"Embrace your foe and become his friend. Become someone he absolutely cannot survive without, and then stab him in the back and walk away."

Note to Self

The sad truth is that there really is no going back. No reliving the carefree days of our youth. No recapturing the warmth of that first love. No returning to that time in life when things seemed simple and calm and happy.

This doesn’t have to be a bad thing. Sure, those days and circumstances are gone forever. Still, always lamenting the present and idealizing the past will only lead to a constant state of disappointment. Look to the future, and do so with the knowledge that obtaining the past is impossible. Remember those moments, cherish them in your memories, but do not expect them to repeat.

People change with every minute of experience. Even if transported somehow into a treasured memory, it won’t be the same, evoke remembered feelings. In the end, disappointment will always follow. That’s why the future is so precious. There is always hope that, somehow, things will become better. That no matter how many times we are broken, changed, and still hurting, maybe just the simple knowledge that our circumstances will eventually change is enough.

The past is gone, the present is now, but the future is a possibility that has not yet been tossed aside. We cannot go back, but we can push forward.

Who Cares?

When my legs were stolen
Right out from under me
I made new ones all by myself
And donned my mismatched socks

Who cares?

Who cares?
Who cares?

Not me

When pushed down into the mud

I jumped straight back up again
I spat out the dirt and grinned so wide
And raced off to play some more

Who cares?

Who cares?
Who cares?

Not me

Followed by some shouts and yells

I simply turned around and ran back
Watching them scatter from my charge
Not slowing down until I gasped for breath

Who cares?

Who cares?
Who cares?

Not me

If I was left behind, I skipped around happily

Singing as loud as possible and then finding
So many adventures others missed out on
By following the path only I could ever see

Who cares?

Who cares?
Who cares?

Not me

Exodus

It’s past the time
When the curtains rose up to thunderous applause
It’s past the time
When the audience wept and laughed to see me

Now is the hour

When all the pages of this story are inked in
Now is the hour
When the paper’s glued and tightly bound together

And in a little while

What will I think of how I behaved before?
And in a little while
Will I still feel so exposed to my very core?

A few years from now

I’ll be laughing again, and I’ll feel so carefree
A few years from now
Everything new will be the fresh breeze I need

Some more time later

Maybe I’ll be brave enough to think on the past
Some more time later
And not cringe from all these memories of mine

When it’s finally over

The tears I should have shed will eventually appear
When it’s finally over
And I’ll heal from the pain I’ll now let myself feel

Remembering the past

Will be like looking at someone else’s life history
Remembering the past
The plot still recalled but the sharp details blurry

Looking back inquiringly

Maybe I’ll admit this life was damned worth living
Looking back inquiringly
I’ll finally tell myself I did okay and won’t be lying

So from now on

Perhaps I’ll even look forward to all my regrets

From now on

10.30.2014

“Everything’s subjective, even the passing of time.”

Build Up Those Muscles

Better that you laugh
when faced with danger
than to cower (in fear)
from the truth.

We are told (to lie)

often that we must be
brave and strong, but
reality is fear.

Strength is acceptance.

Origins

From the beginning,

I knew you were going to wreck me

And I let you.

From the very start.

From those first moments,

I saw the tears that would pour

Down my face.

From the first glance.

From the first touch,

I felt then the pain underneath

Something sweet.

From that first kiss.

From your first joke,

I heard the sound of distant scorn

Echo through me.

From that first laugh.

From our first fight,

It pained me that my love would

Slowly become hate.

From that first shout.

From the first words,

You spoke all these pretty words

That were empty.

From your first lie.

From the first meeting,

I greeted you knowing eventually

You’d leave me.

From the first hello.

From the beginning,

I knew you were going to wreck me

And I let you.

From the very start.

From the very start.