Cold Nostalgia, Eloquently put. — Delving into the Realm of "Once-Were's." (Excerpt; The Person in the Woman)

Delving into the Realm of “Once-Were’s.” (Excerpt; The Person in the Woman)

wolvesandclaws:

I used to not think much about reminiscing just as I had not thought too much about spending time here, wondering about how this place might have been once before — at least there were more lively conversations and jousting efforts to stay alive. Nowadays, everyone wants themselves dead, they want themselves to be somewhere else instead of here, they want to be in a place where there is no arguments, there is no ignorance, there is no bothersome stress to drive us dry to the bone. I suppose in this sense, I miss how things used to be — and I don’t like admitting to aching for previous things. In a short retrospect (and I fucking hate this line, a lot), you never know what you have until it’s gone. And yes, I am talking about the past, although I really don’t know why, because the remnants of past events, memories, photos, videos, and spoken conversations should remain behind.

I remember a time when things were as magical as Disney movies, as seeing fireworks burst in mid-air, the smell of wondrous cinnamon buns, the specks of dust floating above my bed, the silence of beauty, the rustling of children’s feet scampering across marble floors, and I? —well, I could say I really enjoy being bundled beneath the sheets of tender love that yearns to be released. And I don’t want to disappoint, I really don’t because the unsatisfactory feel and smell of defeat is bitter and sour. We are not given many chances to write stories just to tell stories, but to keep ourselves alive and free, just as with many other things we do and live by. But damn, damn! I can’t believe that for many years i didn’t understand why I was the way I was or why I felt like I was so different and yet — at the very same time I felt like any other ordinary person. To dive into these things would mean I had reopen wounds, would mean that I had to drink coffee, smoke my cigarette, listen to acoustic music, and all at once — it went blank.

Because there once was a beautiful scenery in my home, an elegant place where everyone was happy. People are sad, people are always sad because being happy took too much out us and being content was nearly impossible. Was. I have grown very accustomed to a place like this, it weather as dreary as our hearts, and with animals that love you more than you love them. Fathoming every second of what was left could be a terrible turn for the worst, the very damn worst. I have no shame left in me to speak about, I really don’t and that is why I have not been able to write freely on this. It almost seems as if time had stopped and as if the whole world just paused and looked at the sky — there isn’t much to see tonight, but I promise you that it isn’t always like this; there are days that you couldn’t even describe, days you couldn’t go a day without speaking, days where the warmth in your hands would remain forever, and days where nothing went wrong.

Nothing went wrong at all.

And I hate this feeling. I know I say that so very often, but there is no way that I can emphasize enough, no way that I can stress to this to point that I can completely comprehend the reasons why I just haven’t been feeling like me. Priorities are disappearing, strong voices are drowned, the innocence of millions of people are shattered — and where were you? Where were you in the midst of all this chaos? You were gone, too. Can’t we just please turn this around and start somewhere else? Why is it that when I plan to go one way I go somewhere else?

I hate the way you made me smile. I hate the way you loved me. I hate the way you were so sweet to me and I hate that all of these things were done for me. Now that you have left I have nothing but these things to remind me of how lovingly painful this is. I hate knowing that you were in this bed with me as we talked about our life, our future, and how we took naps because we were so tired from conversations. I hate knowing that we have been everywhere in this house together because everywhere I go, I think of not just myself being there, but you being there with me. I hate that I cannot eat in my dining room because you were there with me and I hate that I cannot watch movies in my living room because you were there, your arms wrapped around me as I watched these movies.

And I guess in the end, I do not hate these things, but I love you so much that it hurts to think of these things and know that you and I no longer speak everyday. It hurts to know that what used to be a beautiful, blooming friendship has decayed a little bit more and more as the time went. And as I sit here listening to acoustic songs that creates a loosely-lived atmosphere in my room, I think of how long this will last. How long will I have to endure this until you come back to realization that we have no time left?

And I hate that I have so many things that remind me of you, but you hardly have much to remember me by. I remember telling you, telling you that no matter how hard I am trying to forget about you, I cannot and will not.

Damn! I am a wreck, I am a mess, I am an unfinished puzzle that refuses to be pieced together.

Different structures of influence has shaped me and many others as of lately and I am not too thrilled in being where I am not but at the same time I am rather content. In a sense, things aren’t the way they used to be but I am okay with that because change is inevitable. All in one moment, everything has become a lot more blatant and apparent; it’s not like we intended for this to happen but even so, what has happened — happened. Whether the choice to reconcile becomes an option (or not) is based solely on our own self-interest; the likelihood of such event occurring is rather slim. Although it is evident that the level of maturity used to handle this situation is rather below average, I have absolutely no interest in harmonizing anything. As tantalizing as anything seems at this point, I am not for it. I won’t ever be for it. I am not ashamed to admit nor am I regretful in this moment. 
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This is perfect.

poles
  1. jayceeaye reblogged this from wolvesandclaws and added:
    This is perfect.
  2. wolvesandclaws reblogged this from wolvesandclaws
  3. elevtdmentality said: Pure emotions, I adore tangibility of thoughts on a physical sense. Keep writing, beautiful soul.
  4. adefectiveidealist reblogged this from wolvesandclaws
  5. wolvesandclaws posted this