Re-defined Life

They say that once you find that person who so seems to make your mind go numb, your stomach flip, someone you can actually picture yourself with even when you are old and crippled, you will always find a way to be with that person. They say that once you find all that, you will never have another lonely night. Yet, in the distant I hear a laughter that annoys me, and, near me, I hear the words “I need your loving like the sunshine” being uttered. I seem to be standing still while the whole world revolves around me, confusing me, making me dizzy; it seems to be spinning with happiness, while I’m standing with sadness. Slow-motioned people move around the room, smiling, laughing. I see everyone; I see no one. I see a girl of about sixteen, letting her head fall back while her shoulders move up and down and her mouth opens and closes, showing off her coffee-stained teeth. I don’t move while everyone seems to do so. She’s placing her hand on the shoulder of a guy, brown hair, blurry face, laughing also. She leans forward, opening and closing her mouth at odd intervals. People talk and I don’t listen; the words go on annoyingly, but I can’t listen. The constant nagging of everyone who doesn’t get enough in life – it makes me wonder if there is some purpose for all of those who do so, any at all.

I Never Thought

That lovely face, round and decadent, I could not imagine dead. Those glistering eyes I cannot see how they can leave me. The love your lips pursued over mine will never be there anymore that you will.
I should’ve known that this utopia could not last forever. I had to know, somehow, that your skin would fall and that your skeleton will be bare and soon decrepit. I knew in my heart that you would not live forever with me, that you would have to leave sometime, but my soul seems to not have known; it feels that a part of it has gone missing.
But you just lay there, not knowing. I miss you and I want you back. You don’t seem to hear me, even if I spend all my days just wishing and waiting. You are gone and I’m still here. You are gone; you left me, and yet you are still with me somehow.
I should be well aware that you loved me. Most of all, though, I never thought you could be so peaceful without me.

A Retrospect

The piece you are about to read was written about a year and a half ago. It was inspired by my then book about a lonely woman who travelled restlessly trying to avoid contact and feared a commitment to anyone might turn into a horrible hurtful mistake. Needs a bit of work, but I thought I might share it. Maybe I'll use it in another book. Who knows...

All my life, I have proceeded in a state in such which let’s me not regain in me the most horrifying truth about myself: I am alone. I see no one; I love no one; I befriend no one. I ask myself if I have come to regret doing this to myself. And I do. I regret it a little too much.

I do regret it, and I feel ashamed that I do. I feel as if I would be regretting what I have built through the time of my being. I don’t know why it is that I do, but I just do. I have come to realize that I have built a wall in which I let no one come through and I’ve been proud of that for my whole life. I have come to realize that I’ve just been torturing myself for these past five years by believing that I would be happier if people stayed out of my life, or if I stayed out of other’s lives. I guess it never crossed my mind that one day I would come and be lonely. So, here I was – somewhere new, somewhere different, yet I was still the same person. I think that I was the only thing that I wanted to get away from when I decided how my life ought to be lived. I was the monster I was hiding from. I was the one I wanted to get away from. And, now, I look back and I seem to forget that I need things in my life; some things just ought to be there like friends, and maybe even family. I ran away from all of those important things, when I was really trying to get away from myself.

This all came to me a little bit later than the proper time for it should’ve been. This was just a meditation in which I have concentrated on what I want. No, not what I want, but what I need.

But is it going to make a difference now, after all that has happened?

Yes, this had to make a difference. It just had to.

Hey there, readers! I just wanted to share this poem I wrote a few days back. It's in Spanish, so bear with me. Hope you like it. Here goes nothing.

Me quiero perder en un mar de sábanas contigo.

Arrastraremos la noche en riversa evitando el olvido de nuestro profundo clamor.

Nos morderemos los labios; nos olvidaremos en el placer.

Es éste un mundo desierto en donde reinamos sólo tu y yo.

Y solos nos atraparemos en el encanto del placer carnal.

Me quiero perder en un mar de sábanas contigo

Y, así, no dudes, que encontraré tu corazón porque será uno con el mío.

The Party Upstairs

Funny how I'm all alone, yet they are all together. I am an involuntary solitary. My friends? They don't know the real me. I try, I really do, to let myself be known to them, but, all in vain. Just a slight revealing makes them distant and ignorant. All in all, my "friends" are not my real friends, since they know me not. Thinking truthfully, I'd rather them not know who I am. I am a failed writer, a philosopher - a thinker. I am not nearly as what I ought to be. I never finish any projects. I fancy myself smart, yet I feel like a fail class compared to those who truly are smart by nature. I am confused. I am alone.

There is a party upstairs. All I hear are people laughing and talking, loudly. I think back at all the opportunities I had to be like one of those people who enjoy life and then I regret not making friends with the popular crowd, not accepting to hang out with them or go to parties with them simply because I thought I was above them. Am I? Let's see: They have fun, they are faithful friends, they enjoy life; I, on the other hand, don't have fun, do not have loyal friends, and I do not enjoy life. Who's winning here? The "philosophical writer" or the popular air-head? I think we all came to the same conclusion here. Lonely bitter me has achieved nothing in this miserable life, while they have achieved life and friendship. The party is upstairs; I am downstairs.

Forms of Communication

It seems somewhat a curiosity to me how, with just a click, you can be published, you can be read, you can be known. Now all your thoughts, all your feelings can be viewed publicly with or without your knowledge and then you become aware of how vast the world may be and how confusing and how seemingly differently it is from what you expected it to be. Now, the world can just be locked up in your archive with just a click of a button. But then, why is it that when our world can communicate so easily we communicate even less then when we didn't have these advances and we couldn't reach each other so easily? We've improved them method but deteriorated the art. So many things have been done to improve our communication; people from China can now talk to people in South America so easily; it's hardly a struggle to do so. But, even though we can talk so easily, none of it's really talking or conversing... Are we really listening or are we just talking away? Most of what we do is a monologue which no one really cares about or listens to. We talk our hearts away without getting so much as a response from anyone. Is this what our communication has turned into? Are we supposed to enter a world in which all we do is talk to ourselves in this vast black hole that is our universe? Why can't I be heard when life is making it so much easier speak? We can talk all we want here, but can we learn to listen? But, most of all, are you listening to me?

Confusion

Why do you always get me so high and so crazy? With just one word, just one, you turn my world upside down. I was fine, you know, before you said anything. Why did you insist on communicating incapacitated words to me? I need not your pity, nor your abundance; I need you when you're with me and not at all when you're not. Ay, me! You are the pure embodiment of confusion, yet you have made me understand myself. I love you still, my darling, and you know that well. So, why do you insist on destructing the life I made after you? Why, after all you put me through, do you ask me if I love you still? February 17th has come and gone, yet my heart has never left yours. Trust me darling, at night, I lie awake and wish with all my might that you would be there next to me. In the afternoons, I day-dream of dancing with you and kissing you and being happy. Why must you ruin everything I have accomplished without you? I proved to myself I could do it! I truly did. So, why now? Why? Am I just some sort of experiment of love to you? Ay, me! So many questions, but no answers whatsoever. Here's another one: why do you get to pick when we talk? how come, when I need to speak to you, you're never there, and, if you are, you ignore me? The least you owe me is your friendship. But why?