Lost

It is sometimes better here, alone, in this quiet peace without my heart belonging to anyone but me. It's like that now, so maybe that's something. Aren't you supposed to be okay alone first, comfortable with yourself, complete, before moving on to the next phase? These are just images anyway, shades that mean nothing at all through the tears I cry. There seems to be a lot these days. I think I've mentioned that before. I can't always handle this going away--but I like the distance from all my harsh judgments. It get so tiring, trying to make sense of it all. Here. Here, but trying not to be scared anymore. So, I walk along the day, all these faces coming and going. Some pleasant enough to smile at. Tears of tomorrow and of today. It is not the laughter anymore that mocks me, all these dying religions I could give or take. The mantras I constantly speak to myself that everything is okay, that I'm okay in here. That everything is going to be okay in and outside of here. I promise.

Sometimes, I tell myself I'm okay, and I believe it, that there's nothing wrong with me, even though I do all this to myself. It doesn't always feel okay. This crazy day is here inside my chest, dreaming about you all the time. Anymore, I try living against the grain. Everyone else is doing the same thing. I want to believe in something else, so I believe in something else, better for me, here. There's a deeper calm, a sense of peace now, even though a tear drops to blot the page. Where does all that come from? Long ago? Far away?

It's always moving, speaking differently. Every day, it says something new. So, forever, I guess, it will always change. Passion turns into this. A heart that's full for reasons unknown. Even now, here, it's strange to see this world outside and how it moves so quickly. It's a wonder anyone can keep up at all. No thought too disturbing to enter. Nothing perverse today, just these mantras over and over. They haven't done me any harm. Just the opposite, I think. And you are always in them, because I try to bring you closer. They are like magic words I try to turn into love again, hoping you'll see them someday, know who they're coming from, written in secret messages across the sky, or carved in stone, maybe sand. Even here in side me where all the wreckage is, etched into the muscle of my heart, where I know they'll always be.

Hello, here, another pretty face I see, always, or usually accompanied by some other gentleman I never notice until later. It's ridiculous to think pretty girls are alone. But still, I think sometimes--or maybe always--Is that you? I try to speak to you through telepathy, the look in my eye, a smile if I'm brave enough. It hasn't worked so far. You obviously can't hear me.

It's a matter of balance, how you can be brave enough to open your heart so freely, incapable of judgment--it hardly seems you at all with the way this world is made. Another wall, a fortress towers high. It blocks out the sun. I think, "So that's what it's like to feel no pain. No wonder no one can get through." So much for you. So much for me. I know there's more to it than just this surface area, which is why I came calling in the first place. Someday I will ask you what all this means to you, and you will answer, "It means everything to me."

It is not so lonely here when I try to make it otherwise. There is power in the thought that propels beautiful creation. It wipes away everything dirty, better than the best of pills. It's just a matter of seeing things differently, smiling more. Gravitation. So, I make my own pull, going where I want, when I choose, more versatile than a pendulum swing. Do you see what I mean?

Nothing ever really has to end if you don't want it to. You can raise, resurrect the dead. Find more interesting things to say.

This other voice is trying to break through. It drowns out the sounds, the pestering of all the others. I'm teaching it how to ride a bike now, how to swim, play kickball. Practice makes perfect. Every hurt is some kind of lesson. What if it's always about hurt? Shouldn't you learn enough not to hurt anymore? Isn't there another teacher? Some deeper understanding. I should have learned all this at sixteen. Not here, not now. Better late than never, I guess. To not want. To always have what I have here inside me, in this heart of mine, I'm determined to turn to gold. Maybe it's gold already. It's my mind that needs adjusting, better clarity, renovation. We'll work on that a little more, piece by piece. I'm saving all that anyway, all that good stuff, reserving it, you could say, especially now, only here, only for you. Whoever you are. A dream come true, a song I hear on the radio late at night, driving over the broken bridge of time, a word my pen makes, a sound I utter, a picture I imagine coming to life in my head only you could have put there, like children playing on a swing. Enough is enough already. We can go back to the way things used to be.

I turn sweetly into this hour long embrace of all the many sides of me I used to be ashamed of. I'm tired of fighting. I think it's braver to let go. I can catch myself if it gets too dangerous anyway. I have to to get myself out of every mood, every jam. Resilience and reliance. Then, I can finally devote myself to every part of you--because I can selflessly, finally, give all of me. That's my goal.

It's telepathy I sing. Silver in here, like bright lights on a stage. Have you received my message yet? These words are finally here for you to read. I finally had the chance to carve them into a place they will never wash away. I'll leave a few others just in case. I might need them later to go back to. I don't remember things so well. I have been devoted to you long before I knew your name. I just can't live any other way. There is no other way to be. It's a good place to get lost in, though, don't you think? Just ask anyone.