the end of something beautiful

Well, that happened. Turns out the people who criticized our relationship have won. The wagging tongues got what they wanted (even if they didn’t explicitly want it, they certainly didn’t help).

Sure, they’re going to say that it wasn’t ever really love. I’m quite sure that’s going to be the reaction; the way that they are going to try to comfort me. That I was being used, or just ‘convenient’ because I’m here and I ‘can’t’ go anywhere entirely on my own (so I couldn’t drop in unexpectedly, for example). They’re going to say that I shouldn’t be crying or sad over a girl who ‘clearly’ wasn’t ‘right’ for me.

I think I’m only really sad cause I feel that in another life, another place, another time, we could have been so much more. Because together we really made sparks fly. Not all the time, but we did. That and I miss her already.

Usually, after a breakup, or at least an admission of ‘this doesn’t work’, I feel like shit. Sure, it’s the pain of separation and all that, but in the past, this post-break up period usually features a lot of hate-justification (sorry, I don’t know what else to call it). You know, the usual ‘she hated this thing about me so why should I be with her – I’ll be better off without her’ or feeling numb. Strangely, this time around I just feel… sadness and relief. Not entirely relief, to be honest. It hurts like I’ve been stabbed or stung by an electrically charged whip (never been whipped, so maybe that’s just my imagination) but I kept anticipating that something was going to go wrong (partly because we just got so much shit thrown at us from other people and partly because there were times where I annoyed the hell out of her). Now that it’s happened, it hurts but I can’t hate her. Or be angry at her (not for long anyway).

In the past, I worked myself up into such a state that I couldn’t talk to a partner right after a breakup.

Now, I can’t stop myself talking to her. Whether out loud, on Facebook or in my head, I just want to hear her voice. I just want to hug her, to hold her. To make it all okay. I dunno why; maybe cause she’s the first person who even got close to seeing under all my layers, the me without my ‘armour’, without me being able to put distance between us – without me wanting to put distance between us. Maybe it’s cause she’s younger (first time I’ve been with someone younger  all other partners have been either older or same age as me) so in a way, I feel responsible. I felt responsible from the beginning, though; perhaps I truly love her. Maybe I just think I do. Maybe it’s just cause she cried on my shoulder once or twice, and let me cry on hers, so I felt… useful. I felt wanted. I felt warm on the inside. I felt I was home, like I belonged. You know that feeling people talk about, like you’re on earth just to be with this person? Just to hold ’em, smell ’em, kiss ’em, etc? That. Mushy, painful, and probably anti-polyamory (although I fully endorse the idea of polyamory, I’ve never tried it) but it really felt like that. I’m not saying I’ll die without her. I’m not saying I can’t/won’t be happy without her but I don’t want to live without her either. Foolish, I know.

I’ve never quite felt like that before; I probably won’t feel it exactly the same again. Sure, we have issues – with ourselves, with each other, with the world. On bad days, it was shit, utter shit, no? But on the good days, hell, it was fucking poetry. So… thank you for the poetry.

I’ve realised this is probably more damaging to her than it is to me. So I have to let her go. The rest remains to be seen.

[Soppy, innit? This is not to say that previous relationships weren’t important – my experiences have sculpted me more or less into what I am today, so… thanks to all of them.]

This is probably going to smack of some cracked up philosophy bullshit, but I’m going to say it anyway: I’ve realised that people seem to be more moved by sunsets than by sunrises. Maybe it’s cause they make you realise that something entrancing like a sunset does truly end (till the sunrise and the next one, of course).

So here’s a picture of something pretty I found on the Internets:

Image result for sunset northern lights

An image of Aurora Borealis – ‘borrowed’ from the Telegraph newspaper.

Yes, I realise I sound like I just stepped out of a heartbreaking romance. I’ll be ok. Soon. Promise.

This is good. So I tell myself. Pain lets us know we’re alive, right?

I suppose another good thing to come out of this whole thing is that I’ve learnt that writing is my strength. It was the first place I ran to after my surgery, and when it got too much, I came back to it. It brought me back. It brought back the balance (whatever balance that is…). Not writing is bad. Bad for me, and bad for literature (geez, ain’t I modest? 😛 ). Still, whatever other people say about my ‘talents’, I reckon I’m a poet at heart. That’s really, truly, what I do best.

See ya round.

Silence

Wow. It’s April.

And I’m still here.

I know, I know, I’ve been really really quiet recently. Well, since January (if I’m not mistaken). I don’t remember the last time I wrote a blog post. Lots has happened – stuff I’m not sure I want to share. I’ve realised things about myself that I might’ve missed completely had certain things not happened. Things like: I occasionally behave like an ass. People forgive me – I think it might be a benefit of the doubt type thing – although I have trouble forgiving myself for things I say or don’t say, things I do or don’t do.

I also realised that writing always helps my mental state. Even when I can’t be assed. I was in a really dark place – anger does that to you, I guess (or do you do it to yourself by yielding to it? A friend of mine claims that you choose to get angry about things, and choose to feel miserable. Of course, this thinking doesn’t help when you feel like shit). Anyway, I had little – or well, nothing – to lose so I decided to give 750words.com another shot. Although I do have other creative outlets (drawing, playing music, etc.), writing is ultimately irreplaceable. Maybe it’s cause I generally don’t like talking much, so it gets things out my system. Maybe it’s just my way of filtering events.

While on the subject of talking, it seems people are genuinely unnerved by silence. Even in a social setting, if you are the one in the group that says little or even nothing, people seem to perceive this as a bad sign. While in theory I know that being introverted, socially awkward or quiet is definitely not a bad thing, it’s taken a lot of reflection to fully grasp it – mainly because not saying much is treated like a problem. But hey, going out and saying stuff just to make sure people don’t feel uncomfortable is so much better? OK, enough with the sarcasm. I’ve been told I need to stop being so vitriolic when I’m pissed off. Trying to keep it in check; the silence has helped a bit with that. Since I don’t feel the express need to say something or react immediately, I am calmer.

Also, I’ve started reading again. This really feels like an achievement. Giving myself space to read 1 chapter a day – and accepting that there will be days where more than that is just too much for me – seems to have worked. I finished off a book I had started ages ago in Greek and just today started Orhan Pamuk’s ‘A Strangeness in my Mind’.  Will let you know if it’s any good.

Anyhow, I should probably go now. I have to go eat dinner (just some cheese on toast, nothing fancy) and then probably watch a film or continue writing or reading. I just thought I’d drop by and say hello so you don’t think something’s happened to me! I will claw my way back into the writing and blogging game, I promise. Not for you, but for me. After all, why else do it? Doing it for anyone else… would it be worth it?

#snow: a short story

[For Greek, scroll down. Not an exact translation]
[Για ελληνικά πηγαίνετε πιο κάτω. Δεν είναι ακριβής μετάφραση]
ENG:
And then, he turned.
It lasted for just a moment, but he saw me. I mean, he really saw me, for what I am. Not in the way we look at each other but don’t really see. No, he looked right at me, then through me, as if he could see my heart beating under all the layers of clothing and skin I wore. I looked back. In his eyes, I found knowledge. Knowledge as old as the Earth herself – something neither I nor anyone else could ever own, sell or buy.
Suddenly, a shockwave rippled through his mighty body. He made no sound in death, not even as he collided with the ground.
I hadn’t even heard the gun go off.
The huntsman’s voice came from somewhere far away, as though it belonged to a parallel reality.
‘Wolves are dangerous, kid. That monster coulda killed you.’
That night, it snowed.
ΕΛ:
Και τότε γύρισε.
Ήταν μόνο μια στιγμή αλλά με είδε. Εννοώ, είδε στ’αλήθεια αυτό που είμαι. Όχι με τον τρόπο που κοιτάμε εμείς χωρίς να μας βλέπουμε. Όχι, με κοίταξε στα μάτια, με διαπέρασε, λες και μπορούσε να δει την καρδιά μου να χτυπάει κάτω από όλα τα στρώματα ρούχων και δέρματος που φορούσα. Τον κοίταξα κι εγώ. Στα μάτια του, κρυβόταν γνώση. Γνώση τόσο παλιά όσο η ίδια η γη – κάτι που ούτε γω ούτε κανείς θα μπορούσε ποτέ να κατακτήσει, να πουλήσει ή να αγοράσει.
Ξαφνικά, τραντάχτηκε σύγκορμος. Δεν έβγαλε άχνα καθώς πέθαινε, ούτε καν όταν συγκρούστηκε το σώμα του με το έδαφος.
Δεν είχα ακούσει καν το όπλο.
Η φωνή του κυνηγού ήρθε από κάπου μακριά, λες και άνηκε σε κάποια άλλη πραγματικότητα.
– Οι λύκοι είναι επικίνδυνοι, μικρέ. Αυτό το τέρας θα μπορούσε να σε είχε σκοτώσει.
Εκείνη τη νύχτα, χιόνισε.

#poetry : To Hero and Leander – Death’s Apology

For those unfamiliar with the relevant mythology, here’s the Wikipedia article on it, although I’d like to think the poem can be read without the background knowledge…

 

To Hero and Leander – Death’s Apology

 

I remember you and your love secret,

secret even from the gods.

I remember your smooth body bathed in fragrant oils, and his hair wet

with brine and ornaments of seaweed,

eyes glazed with the fever of love.

It was selfish, I know,

to wrap you in my shroud – two souls knotted like eels

to warm my eternal frost awhile.

Such is my fate

to not to be able to touch what I love

and to wreck with a single caress

all your creation.

Each night I watched

as you lit your lamp, for your dolphin love to cross

the sea, straight into your warm, and open arms.

Each night I watched

as from the spring of your lips

you gave him drink, while you fed tender whispers

to your hungry ears.

I could not bear to keep you apart,

so I took you both, my doves,

rather than break your lettuce hearts.

I plunged him into the depths of the waves,

and dragged you over a cliff,

on jagged rocks your arms spread,

wings that didn’t work.

Now

it seems

the buds of summer

have withered too soon.

Gods cruel and silent,

 

what have I done?

#poetry : into the woods

Into the woods
migrant clouds throb over a pink horizon
swirling in the sky like a finger
through hot breath
on the window
the path wears blinkers of trees,
armies of pine on either side
oxygen floods into my lungs
so cold it burns
for a moment,
I stand,
a cockroach by a green giant’s foot
the only way is forward
-don’t look back-
thwack!
a branch shrugs off birds
the path is a river, and thoughts
the only oars left to paddle with
snow swallows the footsteps of those gone past
               -forward is the only way-
though we all know
how it ends.

#poetry : Am Faoilleach

Am Faoilleach*
awake at dusk
by the trunk we marked
in our youth
where their woods end
ours begin
echoes of ghosts
always come in twos
haunted hunters
flutter away into darkness
a wake
with moonlit eyes
and sharp ears
my nose seeks your scent
I breathe in
the smell of earthworms and roots
canopy greens still glisten with afternoon rains
twilight vigil
I juggle a jade horizon
awake
through the dewy dawn
by the stump that remains
where their woods begin
ours end
*Scottish Gaelic for ‘January’. It seems to come from the word for ‘wolf’ (meaning January is essentially wolf month)

#poetry : basic shapes

basic shapes

two lines – that’s all I need –

to weave me into a dance

dizzying coil

fling me free as a feather

into jazz, metal, blues

and then pop – it’s a soft landing.

two lines alone

to pour confessions into thirsty ears

in a communion of beats, notes, pauses

all in time.

two lines – no more – are all it takes

to ‘store in a cool, dry place’

a dose of shimmering

stagnant

elixir of life mass-produced

–        what good is your erosive entropy

now you’re trapped in a transparent tower?

two lines – no less – are enough

to get lost

two lines exactly

to leave me exposed

and two more still

 

to bring me home.

surfacing from the void…

So…. after a very long silence, I’m back! Kinda. I am just resurfacing after a few weeks of writing poetry for university. Just handed in the longest poem I’ve ever written (it’s about 5 pages long – and that’s only partly due to double-spacing) for an assignment. Well, technically, I handed it in at 5 a.m.this morning, but shhhhhhh…

Anyway, I thought I’d do some poetry sharing for today – the next few posts include poems that have been written for the purposes of nailing down some techniques (voice, imagery, that sort of thing). Of course, being the intelligent wolf that I am, I did all the exercises, and then chucked all the technical knowledge out the window because I got carried away by the jazz right before my final hand-in. It’s a very strange poem – quite unlike anything I’ve written in English – and the more I read it, the more I think it should be hidden in a drawer and never let out again.

Alright, maybe I’ll let it out once.