Not falling blindly in love – that is my safety net towards discovering you as an anchor for all my non-belief and disappointment on the world…
A guardian angel without wings, a sweet memory behind an ever closed curtain made out of empty secrets.
I raise my eyes towards you and I hope to see myself fading away in a sweet morning light, casted away within the depths of my recovery.
It’s the end of the year and I want to remember all this time passing by,
constantly finding me running, mostly unrested and always recovering from an undefined projection of a certain type of yesterday…
Piece by piece I should be rebuilt on top of an overarching belief that I can be forgiven for all my non-trusting construct, for all my ignorance and all my pride.
I need to reimagine my path and consider adopting myself once again as a long term solution for my uncertainty. Stability is not so bad after all, the simple things rotating in a sweet ever-lasting routine, life at its best.
Happy new year !
There is definitely a debate (mostly inside) regarding the perfect timing in revealing whatever is that you are strongly feeling from that dangerous DMZ of your (un)shielded heart… that precise belief totally unfiltered and ready to serve a higher purpose. Like your ego… or your (in)dependence.
Whatever it is, you are trying to capture it, read it as it should be read and not as it purely is, your remaining active filters try to polish and soften the sharp edges but you mostly know the reality. No half measures can express your feelings of pure joy or deep sadness. It’s a kind of winner takes it all game where you are competing against yourself and still hope to come out with a clean face…
We should maybe learn to blend all this expression asymptotes towards a more stable growing curve of self re-assurance and hope. Nice small steps into letting out only smart fragments of ever growing ideas, not feasible for a descending world… No time memories in my story… I see no reason to bring it up just now. The simple things. The basic revolution scheme, repetitive, focused on a fundamental victory…
Near the cold non-encounter,
Narrow spaces of unknown are being praised,
In the blind spot of ultraviolet light,
the micro-courage is being worn as untrusted currency,
weaken by the raise of the new time of bland communication,
In the highly complex geometric place of world dismissal,
I find myself being the most critical pretender,
requesting another re-initialization.
I wonder what was lost and where, the precise moment when we forgot to spell our pet names and to dance… when we turned off the need to emphasize each growing second of being apart from, what it once seemed to be, the whole… Point ? of living ? Obviously not… since life is being carried away, disregarding any personal infusion within this dual cup of resistance, carrying that type of sweet tea, gone, for some particular reason, bland.
I am maybe seeking for some help in remembering me, the one that has raised, more than once, the residual sunset to another level, so that your fading face would be provided with another fighting chance of awakening… And I believe I’ve been patient enough with the remaining time of self-questioning, with the lack of structure that sometimes took over and with the rest of the falling memory pieces, not in tune with the current song running on this neutral background… Recurrent.
This is the end… of today’s path, of course, many other final declarations of silence could be projected in the near future… but today’s closure is special, brings up some serious items of self reassurance and control… more likely disclosing the lack of it… I am standing straight but secured by no vertical reference, I am trying to lay down on the cold floor to pick up some imaginary footprints, fading away towards the closed door…
I am minutes away from shouting hello… who knows, maybe the echo is in a better mood than yesterday. But mostly I will whisper goodbye… friendship can be lost at sea, if strongly enough waves of constant disappointment and false caring continuously challenge the bounding vessel, so fragile by the nature of uncertainty used as home-guiding reference…
So it appears that is still possible to project the inside storm to the outside and still amplify it to the point of giving up hope… To the point of detaching that last phrase of independence… from you.
And I’ve waited again for that small change of drift that could take me apart and shuffle me into the same old puzzle that drawn you towards me… Precision at it’s best was this new old time of our own sake…
I think I could have been more delighted about your shy silence rising above the wild roses sunk into the darkest water of forgiveness… Picking up what is left of it and make it work… This is what I am being told now and then and it seems that I must, or even better, I shall listen.
To be given any piece of advice (without minding the additional layer of dusty memory shouts) it’s a real treasure and a real advancement into your quest of becoming the real thing, the image of certainty that the others seek into your eyes full of awareness… And being not yet the dawn of achievements, you might still catch a moment to savour your imperfect evolution into the tardive, unloving, cruel and dark graph of sufficiency… And why should I move forward when I have this current option to freeze upon ? If it’s all about the road and not about the final destination then I am entitled to shut down a dreaming thread and fall asleep… and maybe wake up towards something less profound but more precisely pictured within a black frame…
Sometimes you need to burn much less than it’s allowed and allocated in order to be more effective and green… All this in relation to a soulless environment that shields you from all the unspoken love you salvaged in all your dark corners over the years…
Memory seems to be flexible enough to let me escape most of my failed moments, my derivative resolution regarding a truth that is most of the time heart breaking… So do I need to open instead of closing, to listen instead of speak, to observe instead of posing, to react instead of running away ?
Do I actually need to confront all this mechanical flow of interactions that yields a fractional truth, embarked into a cleaning or purification process ? Not really. Our evolution on our binary decisional tree will function either way, left or right. Meanwhile, dreaming towards a theoretical middle way might save conscience long enough for the same good old memory to fail the quest of trying hard not to enjoy this final ride…
In pursuit of an induced therapy I find truly necessary that sweet breaking of an older instance of myself back into the faded pieces that projected once much more sense than the today’s complete puzzle, shining back at me, carved into a shapeless mirror…
Above any misdirection from the outer world I manage to dream again at you, the one that once made possible my recurrent escapes into a space painted mostly with passionate intentions. I am not sure about my words, about any potential thread of conversation, about the safe raising of my re-focused view to conclude either your presence or absence from the scene.
What I hope for is for an ideal silence that can heal the past but also can act as a contingency plan for my unpredictability. And yet, this cold price, paid for not hearing you loving me or, ideally, re-assembling me from the fallen pieces, seems to be the most accurate currency, governing all my non-reactions.
And when your price makes it into currency and you are selling yourself against your remaining time in this world, all seems indeed lost and without the prospect of recovery.
However all the other time, invested into loving your non-communication, your ideal projections of silence and maybe that sweet recurrent disassembly of the frozen puzzle, could be potentially reclaimed and used to solve yourself and to bribe the future into becoming much more suitable for your later expectations.
I finally smile, coming to the conclusion that is I who quietly found my displaced therapy, lost somehow from it’s purpose and functional value. Somehow parked in a similar position as myself. And if by chance it’s composed of dynamic elements (a sweet guiding voice, a scent or a projection of a happier version of you) then this inner join could be nothing but reassuring into a total new re-positioning.
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