December

Suddenly it’s December and I find myself listening to my winter playlist again. It’s a playlist with songs of love and songs of loss. The one that makes me yearn for something intangible. It’s maybe a feeling that I cannot understand, a destination whose existence I know not of, a home where I have never been, a warmth that maybe does not exist.

With the songs comes the realisation that I was never someone’s Heather or could never be someone’s Georgia. A sinking feeling that there’s no reason to dance to snowman on a white Christmas because a forever love feels too heavy to hold in my forlorn heart. Suddenly, I become too good at goodbyes as my tears dry, making promises to love them from a distance because being together does not feel the same. But the cold wraps me up soon, and I find myself missing the sun as it starts to snow, begging the question, “Was it really worth it to let them go?” And suddenly, I find myself at their doorstep, begging them back in my life, apologizing for being so shallow, trying to break down the walls I built and sealed on my own. Suddenly, the memories of those cigarettes after sex become my only source of warmth. Suddenly, it is just the wind whom I can whisper to the stories of my love.

And soon, I am tracing back my memories to August, the time when it all began, when it always begins. It’s so weird how all my stories start in August and end in December, like a pattern that renews every year. And maybe, that’s why I hate August so much. August brings me hope, a hope that starts with an end date, the date already known. And despite every December hurting me so, August does not stop making introductions, it does not stop me from weaving my wildest dreams and building airplanes. August knows that it will eventually all come crashing down. Despite August believes, like the fool it is and I let it, like the fool I am.

Suddenly my feet feel cold, a simple teaser to a dying soul. The days feel darker now, darker than my intrusive thoughts. I can no longer differentiate what is real and what is not. So, I give myself completely up, engulfing myself in all that I have left to call mine, the darkness, the sorrow, the painful nights. And I wait, wait for you to knock on my door so that I can happily die.

Suddenly, it’s December and reality hits. The one where it was never them but always me.

The Taste of an Autumn Rain

The autumn rain was unexpected.

Of course there were signs of it. In the way the dark clouds were crawling in, in the way my hair acted a bit weird that day, in the way the wind hit my soul sending shivers down my spine.

But still when the rain did come, it took me by surprise. I stood there unguarded as it drizzled on to me. My first instinct was of course to run away, find warmth under a shelter that would never harm me in any way. But I stayed. I stayed as the first drop hit my forehead and slid down my neck. I stayed as it hit my ears, my cheeks, my eyes, my lips. I stayed as the drops got stronger and it slowly engulfed me.

And as I stood there getting drenched from head to toe, I had my first taste of the autumn rain. The autumn rain tasted sweet but had a bitter aftertaste. Like in all its honesty, it was still hiding something. In all the love it had to give me, there were traces of emotions I could never understand. Experiences hidden that I could never be part of. The autumn rain craved for love as I did. But for a love I could not give.

So, just as it had started unexpectedly, it stopped. It left me all alone in the windy night craving for warmth and if not, just the feeling of not being alone. For some reason, the autumn rain left me emptier than it had found me, taken away parts of me I never thought I had in me, taken away the stars I never thought I would wish upon. And as the first sights of winter settled in, I shivered in the cold wind for I had shattered the walls I had built for so long. Now, I am here picking up the pieces, confused and lost, not knowing where to start or if I even want to start again.

Thunderclouds

A soft growl. A rumble. A roar. And then a murderous screech. Today, the thunderclouds that often seemed angry felt like they were in pain.

Thunderclouds can’t speak, they can’t put their feelings into words. All they can do is make sounds that are often related with one emotion: anger. But is that all they can feel? I wonder.

Today was like always. Like always, the gloom spread across the sky hinting that the heavens would cry again. Like always, there were flashes of light every other minute, cutting through the darkness that would have otherwise swallowed us whole. Like always, the subtle wind was breezing through the gaps between our bare skin and the fabric that is supposed to keep them safe; sending shivers down our spines. Like always, the heavy thunderclouds roamed the empty space ready to pour down at command of the skies.

But today, the sounds felt different. Today, the growl seemed a little sad. Today, the rumble felt a little anxious. Today, I could hear the hurt in the roar. Today, I sensed fear in the screech. Today, I saw shades in the monochrome. And, it felt different.

So, what is it? Have I started understanding the language of the heavens or is this what people simply call projecting?

Aurora’s Slumber: An Eternal Curse

I was getting better. A lot of things were still murky in a lot of places but I sure was getting better.

It was a long wait. After all, I had forgotten what happiness felt like, even doubting whether such a thing had ever existed in my life before. For all those memories that were stored in my happy place had stopped sparking any emotion within me and I could not comprehend why I stored them at all. And then, that day, I felt it, a nostalgic warmth engulfing me, awakening me from my deep slumber. “Ahhhh Happiness.” I had finally remembered.

Days became brighter. For the first time (as far as I could remember), the sun stopped hurting me and I had this sudden urge to escape my own darkness. For the first time, I seeked light and yes, the light was beautiful. For the first time, I felt alive.

And the days passed by. The murky river became clearer, the puzzle pieces started fitting together. I was getting better.

And then, just like it had appeared, the light disappeared. Happiness now feels like a memory of an old dream and red marks have appeared on my white skin yet again. And just like I had risen, I have fallen back into my slumber of darkness.

A flickering light, a cursed soul, a diminishing desire. The wheel of the spindle turns and the curse takes a new form and I now know the wheel will keep turning, for enternity.