Standing Alone In Time

Second Upper eh? Good job brother. I am truly proud.

A conversation between a friend and myself a handful of days ago entailed some reminiscing and recalling of some of the memories which I used to run away from until recently. Honest and true. Oddly enough I never believed in running away from problems yet I still ran. I ran for my dear life. Or did I run away from everything else as well?
This new place I find myself in, this strange new place is soothing and somewhat carefree yet I feel empty. As corny as it sounds, I have lost a part of myself. I ran away from it. My friend insisted that I could find it again, I just needed to do some back-tracking. Not true. I have dropped it. I have lost it. It is impossible to reclaim. I could try to rebuild what was lost but I believe that it would never be what I used to be.

The masque. Beautifully decorated and an essential piece of my life. The layers it holds protects me from who I really am, it protects those around me from what I do not wish to share. Friends are beautiful people and they offer to help but this journey, as I have reiterated on countless occassions, is one that I alone have to face. Face. Funny. The masque is something which I still have with me and something that will be with me for the rest of my life. Of that I am very sure.

I do honestly believe that many live like I do. Some keep to their masque together very well, others cannot help but hold the broken pieces of theirs together in the hopes that nobody else is paying attention. There are so many of us out there, we are the same yet all alone. Hiding from something which we do not think we deserve. Hiding from society and cliques who do not need to know, who do not need the added salt upon their own wounds. Common courtesy in some circles, secrecy and mistrust in others. It is interesting how being polite can also be seen as mistrust which is a very unattractive yet unessential component of good manners.

I also finally admitted that I had learnt a thing or two from someone I once knew. Alongside the masque, I now have my very own personal fortress. How about a little bit of Wayne's Great Wall of Shit to hold people at the border? Beautiful. As unfair as it seems, I doubt anyone will get hurt in the process and hopefully I would have let these walls down by the time someone else comes into my life. For now, I just want to snuggle up in my blanket on my bed and in my fetal curl, be lonely, with these four cats.

On This Gusty Night.

How I love the rain and all the stormy friends it brings along with her.
This night was beautiful. It continues to be as the breeze rolls in through my little window and caresses my face in the night as I type this out in my little lamplight. The beauty of the night seems to call for melancholy almost naturally. Nature's own little calling for a dark and slow groan, to remind itself of what within resides.
What a clever cellist the wind is with my steep abode's eleventh-floor windows and balcony.
How the tempo besmudges me with this beautiful state of emotion. How it droops my eyelids and sings to my heart to remind it of the darkness which still resides within. Slowly as It brushes against my lips and my chin does it enchant me with the memory of the requiem my own hollow self would hold if I held it against a listening ear.
I gaze outside and notice how Man's little decorations of light and bricks only seem to feel so still and stagnant amidst the life of tonight. The life of the night and the canvas of the world in symbiosis, in agreement that I should see and recall what I do:
Pristine white, pure and flawless, keen and guiltless, she mounts her ebony steed. To be beside her was a gift for that sun and moon. Quite like this one but with less beautiful scenery. I know not what else would bring about this beautiful little frame to mind and heart other than the yearning of this night. This gusty beautiful night...