It's always hard saying goodbye.
Now that Mathieu's gone I feel like there's something missing in life. As if a bubble of happiness has floated away on the breeze. Things felt so right with him here.
It doesn't help that my best friend is also missing him like crazy.
We try to cheer each other up... but... I'm not Mat, so I can't make Li happy; and it all goes poop.
There's some stuff I need to get out that's totally unrelated to our Frenchly departed friend.
But I don't know how to say any of it.
It's this emotion, that just wont be expressed in words.
There's a rushing river - a waterfall down my throat; but the water fall is frozen in place - hurting as it tries to fall down, down, down; clinging to my insides with icy tendrils.
There's a heat on my skin like hot water; it feels as though it constantly sluices over me - coating my skin with salty heat, then evaporates off leaving me in cold shivers.
There's a pain in my chest that seems to be a dagger protruding all the way into my heart. The hilt pulses in time with my heartbeat, slowly turning, making me want to cry as the wound grows.
There's a roaring in my ears like a plane landing, or taking off - but it never stops. The sound envelopes me, making my ears ache, my brain buzz, the world slide into a grey fuzz.
My hands clasp my sides as I lay in bed. Arms wrapped firmly around me, knees drawn up tight to my chest, pressing on the other side of my arms, I lay on my side and try not to cry. Deep breaths are gulped up in near sobs as my face burns with shame and hatred.
The giant bed seems to swallow me with its quilt and pillows; I'm drowning in a sea of silk.
I rock slightly to try and comfort the child inside. She's the one that's hurting so much.
His words mingle and fade through my consciousness, his face warps slowly in my minds eye - transforming from one person to another; again and again.
The pain inside my lower parts intensifies as I try to move away from the images now assaulting me, and I convulse slightly. I feel beaten, bruised, demoralised... and nothing I can think of will make that pain go away. It's knocking me sick.
The thing is, what I don't tell anyone, what I can't seem to admit is that the reason I'm here... the reason I'm hurting so bad... is nothing to do with what I say. Isn't to do with not being able to say. It's to do with wanting to want to say yes. It's from wanting to feel something for someone.
Something other than this pain.
Something deep inside my heart, returning affection, giving freely... feeling so much for someone other than ...
I roll over, ignoring the stab of pain to my abdomen.
Damn it all to hell
There's nothing I can do for now. Ride it out. Put on a happy face and pretend it's all okay.
Again.
and again...
I can't keep track of my own thoughts.
My mind wanders through clouds, hills, mountains, pages, films, words...
If none of this makes sense... actually, if any of this makes sense ...
The lights are on but nobody's home
The lights are off, but someone's still there - watching, listening...
I blame you, Picachu...
Just existing isn't enough. Yet... existing is hard. Your existence is like a flower that blooms before others with majestic beauty and wonder - but for you, you have to do the growing, the photosynthesising, the budding, the blooming... you even have to pick your leaves, and your petals colours and shapes... there's so much work goes into existing.
Better to be a silly girl with a flower, than a stupid boy with a horse and a stick.
It's called a lance... hello?
So, Plato, what do you think of mitosis?
Your toes are fine dear.
The world shifts, re-arranges.
And there you are. There you are in all your resplendent beauty, smiling at me, shining in the light of your own iridescence. Your arms open up to me, and I think you're about to call my name. The word that forms on those immaculate lips isn't my name though, and the one behind me moves forwards to you. Her own beauty matching yours.
Turning away, I see hands held out to me.
Dark hands of hopefulness. All offering what I offered you. I can't take there offers any more than you could mine; though I fall into their embrace unconscious, unable to accept life, love, 42...
I look up through the spiral of self-hate, loathing, darkness and wonder how I fell here again. I didn't even feel that slight sensation of weightlessness. Living too long in zero gravity will do that to you.
Nothing feels real.
I have a dream. They've locked me up, forced drugs into my system, made me think I'm crazy. You're there, looking on with pain in your eyes at what I've become.
I beg for your help.
"Save me... please..." They're trying to kill me... they're trying to make me kill myself...
I can't say the rest. You'll think I really am crazy.
There's tears in those blue eyes of yours as you nod your head.
The unspoken "You have to be here - it's what's best for you." stays in those traitorous eyes though. Behind the pain, the sympathy and the longing; it's there. Keeping everything at bay. Keeping you from lifting me up and marching out of here with me.
Keeping you from fighting your way out with me.
Keeping you from stopping them.
Propriety.
I know this is a dream though. Must be a nightmare.
You wouldn't just sit there in real life. You'd either tell me to get better or else, or you'd save me. My hero. My best friend. My comrade. My partner in crime...
I glance at the notes.
Long words ending 'icine' are scrawled across it with big numbers next to dosage levels.
They form an across-stick spelling 'Not Good Enough'
A hand pushes up my thigh, another pushes my limp hands towards an already erect member. My eyes are open, but I can't see. Complete shut down.
Two hands guide my head down, and I half hope my gag reflex makes an appearance. I don't even feel the end as I half swallow it.
Part of me wonders at him not thinking I'm dead - brain-dead at least.
Nothing stops him though. Plough on. Plough on...
My mind is a tangle of half finished thoughts, most of them bad.
I sign up for flirting/sex sites... I don't know why...
Never visit them again...
I read, then stop, the re-read. Still don't get it. Move on.
Read more. It's just words. Words, words, words...
Gonna stop now.
In a round about way, I've tried to say:-
I do stupid stuff because my head wont work straight right now.
I do stupid stuff to get over him.
It doesn't work.
Anyway...
Blessed be xx
Now that Mathieu's gone I feel like there's something missing in life. As if a bubble of happiness has floated away on the breeze. Things felt so right with him here.
It doesn't help that my best friend is also missing him like crazy.
We try to cheer each other up... but... I'm not Mat, so I can't make Li happy; and it all goes poop.
There's some stuff I need to get out that's totally unrelated to our Frenchly departed friend.
But I don't know how to say any of it.
It's this emotion, that just wont be expressed in words.
There's a rushing river - a waterfall down my throat; but the water fall is frozen in place - hurting as it tries to fall down, down, down; clinging to my insides with icy tendrils.
There's a heat on my skin like hot water; it feels as though it constantly sluices over me - coating my skin with salty heat, then evaporates off leaving me in cold shivers.
There's a pain in my chest that seems to be a dagger protruding all the way into my heart. The hilt pulses in time with my heartbeat, slowly turning, making me want to cry as the wound grows.
There's a roaring in my ears like a plane landing, or taking off - but it never stops. The sound envelopes me, making my ears ache, my brain buzz, the world slide into a grey fuzz.
My hands clasp my sides as I lay in bed. Arms wrapped firmly around me, knees drawn up tight to my chest, pressing on the other side of my arms, I lay on my side and try not to cry. Deep breaths are gulped up in near sobs as my face burns with shame and hatred.
The giant bed seems to swallow me with its quilt and pillows; I'm drowning in a sea of silk.
I rock slightly to try and comfort the child inside. She's the one that's hurting so much.
His words mingle and fade through my consciousness, his face warps slowly in my minds eye - transforming from one person to another; again and again.
The pain inside my lower parts intensifies as I try to move away from the images now assaulting me, and I convulse slightly. I feel beaten, bruised, demoralised... and nothing I can think of will make that pain go away. It's knocking me sick.
The thing is, what I don't tell anyone, what I can't seem to admit is that the reason I'm here... the reason I'm hurting so bad... is nothing to do with what I say. Isn't to do with not being able to say. It's to do with wanting to want to say yes. It's from wanting to feel something for someone.
Something other than this pain.
Something deep inside my heart, returning affection, giving freely... feeling so much for someone other than ...
I roll over, ignoring the stab of pain to my abdomen.
Damn it all to hell
There's nothing I can do for now. Ride it out. Put on a happy face and pretend it's all okay.
Again.
and again...
I can't keep track of my own thoughts.
My mind wanders through clouds, hills, mountains, pages, films, words...
If none of this makes sense... actually, if any of this makes sense ...
The lights are off, but someone's still there - watching, listening...
I blame you, Picachu...
Just existing isn't enough. Yet... existing is hard. Your existence is like a flower that blooms before others with majestic beauty and wonder - but for you, you have to do the growing, the photosynthesising, the budding, the blooming... you even have to pick your leaves, and your petals colours and shapes... there's so much work goes into existing.
Better to be a silly girl with a flower, than a stupid boy with a horse and a stick.
It's called a lance... hello?
So, Plato, what do you think of mitosis?
Your toes are fine dear.
The world shifts, re-arranges.
And there you are. There you are in all your resplendent beauty, smiling at me, shining in the light of your own iridescence. Your arms open up to me, and I think you're about to call my name. The word that forms on those immaculate lips isn't my name though, and the one behind me moves forwards to you. Her own beauty matching yours.
Turning away, I see hands held out to me.
Dark hands of hopefulness. All offering what I offered you. I can't take there offers any more than you could mine; though I fall into their embrace unconscious, unable to accept life, love, 42...
I look up through the spiral of self-hate, loathing, darkness and wonder how I fell here again. I didn't even feel that slight sensation of weightlessness. Living too long in zero gravity will do that to you.
Nothing feels real.
I have a dream. They've locked me up, forced drugs into my system, made me think I'm crazy. You're there, looking on with pain in your eyes at what I've become.
I beg for your help.
"Save me... please..." They're trying to kill me... they're trying to make me kill myself...
I can't say the rest. You'll think I really am crazy.
There's tears in those blue eyes of yours as you nod your head.
The unspoken "You have to be here - it's what's best for you." stays in those traitorous eyes though. Behind the pain, the sympathy and the longing; it's there. Keeping everything at bay. Keeping you from lifting me up and marching out of here with me.
Keeping you from fighting your way out with me.
Keeping you from stopping them.
Propriety.
I know this is a dream though. Must be a nightmare.
You wouldn't just sit there in real life. You'd either tell me to get better or else, or you'd save me. My hero. My best friend. My comrade. My partner in crime...
I glance at the notes.
Long words ending 'icine' are scrawled across it with big numbers next to dosage levels.
They form an across-stick spelling 'Not Good Enough'
A hand pushes up my thigh, another pushes my limp hands towards an already erect member. My eyes are open, but I can't see. Complete shut down.
Two hands guide my head down, and I half hope my gag reflex makes an appearance. I don't even feel the end as I half swallow it.
Part of me wonders at him not thinking I'm dead - brain-dead at least.
Nothing stops him though. Plough on. Plough on...
My mind is a tangle of half finished thoughts, most of them bad.
I sign up for flirting/sex sites... I don't know why...
Never visit them again...
I read, then stop, the re-read. Still don't get it. Move on.
Read more. It's just words. Words, words, words...
Gonna stop now.
In a round about way, I've tried to say:-
I do stupid stuff because my head wont work straight right now.
I do stupid stuff to get over him.
It doesn't work.
Anyway...
Blessed be xx
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