Falling For a Stranger.
“You took my breath away.” I such an over used cliché, and over used things seem to lose their sentiment and emotional value. I am sure that the first time it was ever used it was meant with deepest honesty, maybe to the point where a paper bag was needed to help the poor love struck fool. But despite all it’s over use she literally caused the air from my mouth to jump back into my body, desperately trying to provide every blood cell in my system with oxygen lest I pass out. She was a beauty I had never truly seen before, she was, and she is magic. Absolutely magic.
I had never swallowed my gum before, even as a child chewing it against my mothers wishes, albeit it was bubble gum and not Wrigley’s extra spearmint. To many, there is no significance to swallowing ones gum at the sight of a beautiful woman. Some would put it down to stupidity and/ or carelessness, but this was something that literally I had no control over; again it comes to my breath being taken away, or in this case being pulled back in my body before I fainted. The force was so strong that, even when stuck to the inside of my top teeth, it was swiped away like it was a feather picked from in-between two twigs.
‘Christ…’ I had thought, I hate clichés but I guess when they were first used they were genuine, and every now and then, even a man such as I, cold, distant and self isolated from the rest of the world, it’s desires and it’s idea of love, ill understand the origins of such clichés. I’ve gone so far into being alone, bitter and indifferent that I’m not sure what romantic feelings consist of and I may never be sure again. But I know what authenticity is; and this feeling in my chest, the dizziness, the speechlessness – even for someone as opinionated as me… Despite the clichéd sentiments being plagued with overuse from the commercialisation of romance, it was all genuine…
What I saw when I looked at her, it could not be sold, it could not be written about in a song or a poem, I couldn’t write it in a card or put it on wrapping paper, not a million great artists from 500 hundred of Earth’s years could paint a collaborative piece expressing what I felt in my body, heart and soul when I looked at her.
It just was. It existed beyond my understanding or explanation, is flowed through me as naturally as water though a lake, or a gliding dolphin in the ocean, it was clouds in the sky but at the same time electricity in the air. It was like nature, natural, pure, untainted and just, was.
And I don’t even know her last name
Bunni Letter #74
If you were here, where would I be?
What would I be?
It worked out well for you.
Maybe that’s all that matters.
Overlaying text on the foreground, distract the eyes. There will soon be nothing left, better put a wash on so I can impress with impeccable dress sense and style - but it doesn’t compensate for the face of a mistake.
Nobody told me it would get worse when I’d grow up. Well of course there’s circumstance that I’m like this - he had nothing to do with it, did he? It’s because I never ticked the right boxes.
Venting about work.
I wish I had a ‘Community’ like friendship group at work. Troy; Abed; Annie; Britta; Shirley; Jeff, and yes - even Pierce.
No offense to anyone I work with, I think they’re brilliant people but I get along with only 4 people there; and that’s because I can hold a decent conversation with them that can actually move past jokes about bodily fluids.
I dunno, it’s just - I never had any friends at Primary school, only a few in high school, then that went way down in numbers in University, and now I’m down to 4 afterward.
I love my job, but I hate going to it. It’s so fucking lonely. And I could change where I sit so I’m surrounded by people - that’s what everyone would shout at me to do, that’s what Red would tell me to do, and I want to make an effort but, she doesn’t understand.
She’s beautiful, funny, interesting and open. I’m, well, unattractive, uncharismatic, quiet, serious and thoughtful. No one understands, nor wants to accept my passions and interests, nor does anyone care. No one wants to hear about my plans or dreams. Apart from Red I guess…To be honest, the best thing in weeks happened to me last week; when I told Red I was making a new film soon. She gave me a smile that, well I dunno, I felt like she cared and that she was proud of me… I dunno, I’m rambling.
I’d like to be able to sit with the ‘cool people’ but I don’t belong there. I’d rather sit on my own and not say anything to anyone for hours than sit with a group of people and have my nerd/ film/ video game references ignored.
Ugh. I hate being alone. This week off so far has been really fun, not just because it’s paid vacation, it’s because I can be me and not feel like a freak, like an outcast, like I don’t belong there. I love my job - but I hate that when I’m there I’m on my own.
Unholy and forbidden, the anxiety ridden, the murderous thoughts of the self.
Unsharpened blade, distraught and dismayed, the silent concern for our health.
And around and around, the three that are bound, entangled in the veins of one.
Do not be concerned, no guilt you have earned, this is the heart of the forgotten son.
Urine and blood tests, I do what I do best, in silence and four walls I keep.
The three on my walls, the memories in halls, but all I deserve is sleep.
Where are they now, so feminine; strong; proud, undecided my pressure is so.
Again feel no guilt, my emotions are my will, you had best give up and go.
I was a king once, and I was loved once, and I was handsome once; for a very short time. And covered in guilt now, in my misery makes me proud, or so I tell myself so I will find; something to help me
I feel strange.
My colleagues at work tomorrow will be asking, “How was your easter Monday?”
It started okay, but after realising how quiet it was I started to get bored, and no matter how many tv episodes or movies I watched, I couldn’t get rid of the silence. I realised how silent it was because I was alone, and I’m alone because I’m a bad person, I’m a monster, I’m ugly and no one will ever be able to love me.
So then I frantically tipped my bedroom upside down to find an old craft knife, and as blunt at it was able to I cut my upper wrist several times, screaming to myself to ‘Break the skin. Break the fucking skin you ugly useless shit!’ Then I took some water colour paint, and painted the word ‘ugly’ on my mirror.
Then I sat on the floor in the corner of my room, with my blanket down wrapped around my legs and a badly rolled up cigarette in my hand.
Oh, it was good. How was yours?
I started self harming again.
I wish I didn’t have to be alone.
I wish I was beautiful.
I should have never introduced her to tumblr. I can’t be honest on my own blog anymore, and when things get to much and I need to vent, she takes things the wrong way and texts me about it. My anxiety gets out of control and I start to panic and then I end up deleting the post just to please her… Because she took it the wrong way, because she somehow feels responsible for a mental illness I’ve had 10 years before I met her. I feel like theres duct tape around my mouth. Now I’m on here, my blog meant purely for poetry and creative writing, venting because I know she won’t see it and I have nowhere else to go…
I think it may be Grief’s feelings overflowing onto my own. I doubt this is how I really feel… But I miss her, Lottie. Or at least the woman I remember in my dreams, in old photographs. I miss her. I wish she was here, I wish I could hear her voice, just one more time.
I was ugly. I am ugly, and she saw beauty in me that went beyond my skin… She loved me despite the disgusting shell I’m in, and if I appreciated her, she would be with me now. Silence wouldn’t be my only lover.
Or at least, that’s what Grief thinks. And he’ll never let me forget it…
I should have been a better man.
Grief, shut up. Please for one day, shut up…
only I were a lion. Covered in gold and draped in red thread, lord and master of all he desired. If only the sun disappeared and hid away, in the dark where I am safest, unseen, unheard and alone. If only the strings would have broke and the pumps hadn’t done there job. If only my blood was rare and not in stock.
If only was romantic but now is manic and desperate. ‘A permanent solution to a temporary problem’ he told me. I am the selfish lair on the other end, I want the permanent fix now and I will never settle for less. I will not compromise this as I have so many times. I will not hide my claws and fangs and minor love.
But I do, I hide and… I can’t do this anymore.
Red In Black
With power in my hands, I would do a million things.
But if I held golden traits and amber waves of flame, I would surely melt into nothing.
I never really got over the pain of losing you. Just put it in a few boxes and pretended it wasn’t there.
Incoherent Memory Bank
It all fell apart at the flick of a switch, a flick of a switch in your head.
And the yellow and green ribbon rushes away, behind a pint glass and a guitar chord you can never find.
It’s not even sunset yet, but light the candles, hide the smell of smoke from the doctors and nurses.
Cheesy mash potatoes with bacon on the side. I hope no one cares it’s been 3 days in a row.
It’s all over there, in two boxes. I should send it all back to the pan lane.
I’ve been ignoring my poetry blog.
And I’m sorry. But I’ll post more on here. I promise.
Three Kinds - Short Story
I have been in love three times in my life. All times have left me with a bitter taste in my mouth and a disbelief that love can never exists in this modern world of faceless, emotionless technology. This tale of disbelief I will suspend for now, but know that my reasons are just and unfortunately accurate when one observes the behaviours of our generation and the generation to come.
I digress - I have been in love three times in my life, and I can not bare to be in love a forth time, alas I said I could not do it a third time or second; however it is this third time where I doubt the love I ‘felt’ the first two times…
Beauty and personality are dangerous things. They will drive you mad or could eventually destroy you. Love is just the lesser evil to war. But pure love, unjustified and unshallow love does exist. It is a stones throw away, but a universe apart - unattainable and unfathomable. This love undiluted or made disingenuous by the modernity of human interaction does exist; however at human kinds current state it is impossible for us to comprehend.
But when you find that love and we are unobstructed by the fog of our own selfish lives, hopes and dreams we will never be able to obtain it because it is always the impossible that we fall in love with. I guess, that’s what makes it love and for me, the fact that it will never be experience by me, the fact that it is an impossible daydream is what defines love.
It exists, but it is impossible.
I have fallen in love three times in my life. The first time, after having three years to think about it after it ended, was forced. I loved Lottie, the blonde haired Irish-English firecracker more than I loved myself and there lay the problem. The fiery nature that is found in deep in her Irish blood was buried under fear and anxiety, insecurity and lost hope and when coupled with my self-hatred and depression we were not good for each other. In the end she let me go because I kept her back and I believe that was the right choice to make.
I did not love her as soon as I met her, although I did have an interest in her, deep and keen. She fell for me as soon as she saw me but for me it was gradual and maybe, maybe I loved her out of obligation - because she loved me. It took me two years of drinking and drug abuse that nearly killed me, twice, to get over her and I now believe that because it was a laboured and forced love, that is why it was so hard to let go of, like a jigsaw piece jammed into a space it’s not meant to be in, jammed in so tightly that when the two come apart they are left bent, torn and broken.
Luckily for her she wasn’t so broken that glue and the love of another man could not fix, and I am happy for her. But I am penitently ripped, the scars that were left will never heal and I keep the bleeding at bay with antidepressants, wine and art.
The second time I fell in love was about six months after my binging had ended and a full year after I had known this person. My opposite in nearly every way but our friendship blossomed and we soon became best friends and even dated for a while. A polite and well spoken girl from London who counter-acted my brash and unforgiving Scottish ways she was the Ying to my Yang. Unfortunately it is a myth that ‘they’ in all their wisdom and anonymity, have force feed you - opposites do not attract. She could not love me romantically and I could tell she tried and I have so much respect for her for trying but the feeling for her was not there. So I did what I had to, I stopped loving her.
My experiences with Lottie left me cold and selfish and almost mechanical in my passion and almost instantly, when she told me she had found a man she cared about immensely, I stopped loving her romantically. Maybe it is the fact that she is my best friend that gave me the ability to do what I had to as easily as I did. I can not be sure…
Both these times were not instant, there was no ‘love at first sight’, there was no passionate orchestral soundtrack, there was nothing that really echoed what I grew up to believe what love was. So, were those feelings love or infatuation? Or is this feeling now, the third kind, infatuation, or the love that I always thought I felt before?
This third time took no thought, I was not even allowed one, there was no question for months on end, there was no stopping it from ripping through me like javelin, taking every organ within me on the way out of my chest. This was, is, absolutely terrifying… This, I cannot describe simply and won’t even dare try to interpret emotionally. All I know is that I fell in love with this woman as soon as she opened her mouth and before I even knew her name. I am free when I speak with her, to be myself, awkward, crude, selfish and arrogant and I am rewarded with her laugh, and infectious one at that which goes deep and pulls out all the passion of a redheaded woman. She admires the way I eat and drink, our ideas are similar and our passions and interests are almost identical.
If I were a more spiritual man, I would say that I have found a soul mate, but I find that idea so laughable that it makes my spine shiver at the idea. But, shit, shit shit shit shit shit. I have fallen in love for a third time… And for a third time it is unrequited.
She has a man. It is a stones throw away, but a universe apart
But this is the purest love I have ever felt, instant, violent and powerful.
Writing about this has taken too much out of me. I will stop for now. But know this, love is instant, or at least this one was. It does not leave us with an explanation to why or how, it just is and it is unforgiving and unapologetic. It will rip through us and cause more pain than joy. That is what love is, so if you bleed you know that you are in love.
I have known this beautiful, charming, intelligent, exciting and adventurous woman for just over a week and I am completely besotted with everything she is.
This is love. A stones throw away, but a universe apart.