Emotional

Fleeting emotions in my heart, bleeding from this

simple part. I weep with you, carrying my love

far to the sea. I just want to let you free, to see you

standing there beside me, laughing with glee

while we soar through the air. Feeling nothing but

bliss. I want you to understand this,

This simple emotion, this craving, this desire

to announce you to all. To let you breathe

our chemicals, our disgusting mode and mean

by which we crave to live. A peaceful destruction,

like the death of a candle, we just whither out

I want you to live in this world, because without

you, I fear what I may become. Would you live with me

my dearest, my son?

 

 

Those Left Unsaid.

The things I would say if I could go back.

I’ve been meaning to write this for a while…to lay down my failures in my life and at least express the grief I’ve kept locked away for so long.

I guess it would have all started when I was young, about when I was five. My family went to Florida, well specifically Disney World. We went to the ocean, and it was the first time I’ve ever seen so much blue below me.

At that time, I was a pretty good swimmer, I guess. While everyone was enjoying themselves on the beach, I was out in the water swimming around and tasting the salty water, I still remember throwing up from drinking too much. I went out into the ocean too far, and the tides pulled me further and further, eventually I was far enough that my father and my mother looked like little kids, and my sister a baby.

I remember hearing a call, something I didn’t recognize, and everyone was gathering on the beach. I started to swim towards the beach to see what was going on, but I kicked something rubbery. I felt whatever the rubbery thing was slid against my body, and it sort of hurt…it was smooth but at the same time rough. A fin was circling me, and I remember being so excited, I thought sharks were pretty cool. I reached out at rubbed my hand against it, but its nose was different than a sharks.

I heard someone scream, and the dolphin splashed me in the face as it jumped away.

I remember being mad that I didn’t get to pet a shark, but I thought how the dolphin jumped was amazing.

I slowly made my way back to my family and I remember getting smacked, then hugged. I didn’t understand but whatever.

Age 10. My obsession with stars had just hit its peak. I knew what I wanted to do in the future, so I focused all of my brain and body into becoming an astronaut. I studied every space-like book I could find. This was probably because I had watched Star Wars a lot… I kept dreaming of finding aliens, talking with them, and standing on their planet in pride as the man who discovered other life. I was smart though, instead of thinking that I’d find life for sure, I was content with just being one of the first people who land on Titan. I remember going into book stores just hoping to find books about planets, moons, or anything space related and then reading them before my mother drags me out. Most of the books I was capable of reading I had read already, I ended up looking through a college level astronomy book. I felt a little confused because some of the words they talked about were out of my vocabulary, but I also enjoyed learning as much as I could from the book.

I discovered that girls and boys did not in fact have cooties; instead I learned that guys tended to be disgusting, and that girls seemed to focus too much on their looks.

It was around this time I noticed that I thought differently from other kids my age. I’ve always loved the idea of a princess trapped in a tower and I the knight must go rescue her. I didn’t care for physical relationships; I didn’t think that hugging or kissing meant anything. All I wanted was to sit down on a mountain, and just enjoy the beauty of the world with the person important to me.

I slowly cemented my thoughts of romance and eventually began to follow a code of chivalry. Simple things, like devotion, loyalty, and protection. If I were to devote myself to a single person, I would be loyal and protect them with all I had. When I thought of these, I never thought I’d throw my life away.

Age 12, my family moved from my hometown. I was afraid that where we were going to live was never going to have snow, that the rain wouldn’t smell good, and that the sky wouldn’t be as clear. I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to look at the stars, and long for my past dream.

I was right.

The nights weren’t like my hometown. The sky was black, yes, but it was lit up with the mark of humanity, it had very few stars in it. It was painful, I already knew that I couldn’t become an astronaut, and even now the world decided to take away the few things I can enjoy.

If I went outside the wind didn’t really blow and it was hot all the time.

I missed my hometown a lot, and realized that though it was mostly brown and that my family called it “Meth-Central, U.S.A.” it was still my home.

I lost my dream of being an astronaut when I was eleven. Within one month I had lost my secondary dream of being an inventor…You know making things that would at least let people do what I couldn’t. I wasn’t strong physically, and I was told by a lot of people I was weird. I ended up hiding behind a mask of what I thought was “normal”, hiding my chivalric side behind it. I slowly began forming more and more masks…Only when I was alone could I expose my real self to the world.

I began having dreams that felt more and more like memories. Emotions would wash over me, and I would wake up, sweating, shuddering, crying, or feeling cold. I remember having a dream where I was stabbed in the back, but I don’t remember if I was running from someone or if I were protecting someone. That dream may have been brought on by the birth mark on my back, I thought it looked more like a very old scar than a birthmark. Another dream I remember was just me alone with nothing but white and blue around me. I felt at ease as I moved with no effort, and I could feel a resistance pushing against my face, I felt like I was flying and it was nothing but ecstatic.

I remember hearing something from a movie my parents were watching, “How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable seem to me all the uses of this world.” I felt like I was the same as the person who said it. So I memorized what they had said, and went outside to walk for a while. I repeated his words over and over and over and over. I questioned everything I knew. Is it really nobler in the mind to suffer, or is it noble to end it all. To sleep, for eternity. The only thing I really had going for me was that I could still be a knight. But I knew I would be a laughing stock among people…I had read Don Quixote, and knew that people would just laugh and mock me. It hurt me to know that even if I were to be serious and devote myself to being a knight, I would still be mocked.

I glanced up at the sky, envying the lone bird sailing through clouds, I sighed. I looked back down at the ground I was tethered to. I wondered if it was that I had done something cruel in a past life that would have made this life so corrupted. I felt like I was trapped in a world that’s like a song, set on loop, and never ending.

I began hating nature, flowers, grass, the sky, the sun, the moon, birds, dogs, the only thing I actually liked was cats, because they didn’t seem to care and just lead their life selfishly. Cats were quiet and they never seemed to bother me much. Dogs on the other hand loud and always wanted something. The sky was too blue, as if it were laughing at me, as if it were saying that I once had the ability to soar among the clouds, but now I am nothing but a human chained to the ground.

Every day I felt the same. Rings grew under my eyes, and darkened. My parents blamed it on “the lack of sleep I was getting,” even though I was sleeping longer than them. They just didn’t understand what I was going through. More than once I put a knife blade to my neck, wanting to end the annoyingly repetitive life I was living.

More than once. There were times when all I was waiting for was the courage to push and tug. I guess I’m not courageous enough to end things like that.

I just wanted out of this cyclical life, I really didn’t want to die. I just thought that death would be a whole other adventure.

It’s kind of silly; I guess I just lived on and on, even though I was alone…even though no one understood me. I don’t think I even understood myself. It was just too late for my personality to be fixed. At times I felt like just going out and bashing my head into a brick wall. That would help…I would have something to take up my time. My family was too poor to pay for the hospital bills though, so I left that idea in the dirt.

I knew that if I actually killed myself, something would happen in my family, and I didn’t want them to suffer. I wanted them to be happy. It wasn’t them that had caused anything, it was me…and I can’t stand the thought of them in pain because I was being selfish.

Actually…all my dream-jobs involved my family having around twice as much annual pay than what my parents got. I don’t blame them for my boring life. They did what they could for me to have fun, but their interests were almost completely different than mine. I wasn’t interested in sports, I wanted to keep somewhat skinny, but I could care less otherwise.

I can’t blame them, they gave birth to me, they raised me, and they spent money on me that could have been spent on my little sister. She at least seemed to be interested in sports and had an idea of what she’d do in the future. I had lost that all a long time ago.

Well…

 

That is…’till I met her.

She was standing proudly as she called me out during the day.

We were near a small man-made lake, and I had pulled a leaf out of her hair, laughing at her. Saying something about how she had to be silly to not notice it. I walked away, and she called after me, standing tall and proud, puffing out her chest and smiling in the sunlight.

I ignored her and began walking away; I wasn’t interested in another person who was going to tell me I was weird. She tackled me, scraping her knee and my elbow in the process. She freaked out that I was bleeding, but honestly I didn’t care at all. Someone had hurt themselves over me and I felt like I was doing something wrong. I closed myself off from her, hoping that she would get bored of me and eventually leave.

She did leave, but came back and chased me down again. After a minute or two of struggle she put a Band-Aid on my elbow, ignoring her knee. I felt even worse and pointed it out to her. She told me that she was expecting to get hurt if she had to tackle me, but that she didn’t want me to get hurt. She apologized and I looked at her, almost crying from hearing her say “sorry.”

She was pretty, long, light brown hair that ran over her left eye. She was always pushing her hair away from her eye, but it never stayed.

Her eyes were green, about the same green as a pine tree’s needles, dark and beautiful.

I told her that she should take care of herself better. I was a man, and didn’t need her to look after me. She laughed, saying something about how a man wouldn’t be thinking of suicide. I didn’t understand, but at the same time I did, and she told me that she had heard me talking to myself about the movie I had seen. She touched my arm and told me that I should come talk to her more.

As if I’d do that, I don’t want to disappoint more people.

But we ended up talking more often than I thought, every day to be exact. It’s like she had a radar that was tuned to me, no matter where I was she would find me.

It wasn’t long until she and I became friendly. She was the first person I had exposed some of my issues to. My parents haven’t seen the real me since I began wearing masks, but she saw past a few of them. I told her about my dreams that felt more like memories, and about all my goals failing.

She told me it was natural to be depressed when you lose something, but killing yourself just means you weren’t serious about it. I didn’t understand that. I was serious, and because I was so serious when I lost it all I thought death was the only thing left.

She told me that if I were to die because I couldn’t complete to my goal, that I wasn’t trying hard enough, or that I thought it was something completely unobtainable. Just because I failed it doesn’t mean that I can’t find other things to succeed in.

She told me that her mother had been like me, and like me, had been thinking of suicide. Her mother had attempted and succeeded, but by doing so left two daughters and her husband in mourning. Then her mother’s job had a huge success and it was mostly due to the work her mother had done. I don’t know why but I was crying. I usually don’t cry in front of other people, and I had thought of things far worse than the simple story she told me. Maybe it’s because she had told me in person, instead of reading it in print. I patted her head and told her I was sorry. She asked me why I was sorry, and I said that she had been through worse than I, yet I was the one thinking of dying.

She smiled and playfully punched me in the chest. Then she ran off after saying goodbye.

I think this was my first real experience of love for someone other than family. I had crushes on things, you know, Ariel from The Little Mermaid, Usagi-chan from Sailor Moon, but they aren’t real tangible objects I could hold in my arms.

She was real.

The hand I had patted her with felt warm, and my chest was pounding. I went home, ate some food, laid down and slept while listening to some sort of Beethoven song play…I don’t know what it was, but it soothed me and made me think of her.

The next day I woke up feeling rested, and even though I had dreamed of flying again, I felt that it wasn’t painful anymore. I went outside and walked around, it was a pretty nice day outside, there were clouds looming, dark grey and I could smell some rain in the distance. The two of us met up at a park where I was swinging on the swings. She giggled before calling me a little kid, and I swear I felt my face turn red from hearing her giggle.

She was the first person I confessed to. She was the first person to say “yes” and she was the first person I thought of when I heard any sort of romantic word.

Her father found out that she was dating someone, and forbade her from leaving the house when he was around. He didn’t want her to be off getting pregnant with an irresponsible child…or that’s what I thought he meant when she told me. She whispered to me that we could meet up at night, a little after 10:00 PM. We could look at the moon together and chat, keeping each other warm with our embraces if it were too cold.

I blushed because I was the one thinking that if it were too cold, we’d hold each other and warm up.

I was so innocent, I honestly thought that hugs and holding hands was what people meant by a “physical relationship”. That night, she and I met. We sat on some swings and talked, she was interested in what I was thinking of for my future and I was interested in hearing her past. I wanted to know all the moments I couldn’t see, because I felt that if it were the future, as long as I can see her, I would be happy.

Our chat lasted until 2:00 AM, and she said she had to go. I realized I was pretty much the only one who talked, so I chased after her and grabbed the back of her shirt. I told her that tomorrow I’d listen to everything she had to say, and she smiled. She patted me on the head and called me silly, then ran off. I sighed, feeling stupid for only talking. I would have rather listened to her voice.

The next day passed slowly, and I hated every moment. I had started writing to kill time. I mostly just tried my best to describe the features of the nature that surrounded me before. I laughed at myself, I didn’t think brown, dead, and empty are good descriptions of my hometown. I tried describing the mountains in the winter, and found that though the image is perfect in my head, I couldn’t describe it in writing as well as I could envision it.

When night finally came, I felt relieved that the day had passed slowly. I felt like my heart was going to implode, but it wasn’t painful…it felt really happy.

We met up near the park, but this time we sat down on a bench and chatted. She asked me about my Chivalry, and I tried explaining that I was interested in someone who’d be as loyal to me as I was to her, that she wouldn’t mind me protecting her, or just sitting with me. I wanted the person I love to be as innocent as I was, to be a blank slate to the act of love, so that we could experiment with eachother and find out what makes us both happy. I felt like if it was her, I would never have to worry about a thing, as long as when I stepped in my door, she was there, waiting impatiently to jump into my arms…

Though we sat side-by-side we didn’t touch. I noticed she kept rubbing her legs, and occasionally she’d try to pull her shirt over them. I guessed she was cold. After a good four minutes of silence between us, I had finally worked up the courage to at least act like a man. I rested my head of her thighs, and I was probably blushing more than a tomato. She gasped but then smiled and laughed at me again. Her laugh alone would probably make any man feel better. I was lying on the bench, resting my head on her thighs looking up to the sky. She was sitting lightly petting my hair and face with her soft hands while she looked into the black sky. Occasionally she’d look at me and smile, caressing my cheek bones, making them tickle. I would smile back, and she’d giggle at me. She told me once that if I could I would be purring, and I’d probably curl up in a ball on her lap and sleep. I laughed and imagined myself being a cat. Being a cat sounded nice, but I would rather be with her how I am than as an animal.

That night, we stayed together far longer than any other night. It felt a little like she was reluctant to go home. At the same time, I didn’t want to leave her.

The silence between the two of us made it awkward to talk, but I don’t think either of us minded. There wasn’t much of a reason to talk. Maybe we understood each other, maybe we knew nothing about each other, but those three hours of silence made me feel closer to her than ever.

When we finally had to separate, I wanted to hug her, hold her and maybe wash the worries that she held away from her. I ended up saying bye lamely instead and crucified myself inside for not following my desire.

She smiled and waved, then turned and ran off. I stood and watched her go, then slowly made my way back home, to a bed that felt colder than her legs. Needless to say, it was hard to sleep that night. My bed felt too big for just me, and I felt lonely. I didn’t understand why it felt big—it was a really small bed to start with. My desires raged and I realized that I wanted to hold her, kiss her and be with her at all times. Not just during the night when we meet up, so I decided that I’d ask her to run away with me. I decided it, but I had to work up the courage to ask her.

The next day I sat in my room, writing and hoping that I could practice asking her…I mean that would be kind of like asking her to marry me right? We’re still young, and we were still innocent. I tried wording it so that it wouldn’t sound like a proposal, but I ended up either degrading her or myself when I changed it. I noticed more and more that I was obsessed. I began seeing her as my savior, and my sole reason to live. I hit myself when I thought that, because she would have hit me if I had said that. I can live to make her happy, and to do so I had to be strong!

That was when I began thinking that strength was both mental and physical. A man dominates his mind and every challenge in front of him. It took a while but I did as many push-ups and sit-ups as I could. I started stretching a little too.

Later on at night we met up again and chatted while we walked through some dark roads. She held on to my shirt, and I held onto her sleeve as we walked. It felt like she and I were the only two in the world walking into that darkness.

We talked pleasantly as we walked slowly, wasting time like we always did. We walked under a light and she stopped. I looked back at her, and she grabbed my hand, she was blushing, and I thought it was cute. My heart also stopped, and I probably had squeezed her hand too much when she gripped mine. “My hand was sweaty so why did she grab it?” I asked myself over and over. I laughed when I noticed her hands were sweating too.

When she and I were about to separate for the night—right as she ran off—I called after her. She slowly came back, and I grabbed her hand again and knelt. I didn’t know what I was doing…I was confused and embarrassed so when I spoke. I stuttered a lot. I almost felt like I should kiss her hand, and hope that she would understand.

She shifted her hand out of my grip and said that if she doesn’t get back soon she might get caught, so I should tell her tomorrow. I stood and grabbed her hand again. I squeezed it a bit then told her that it was fine. She ran off quickly and I went home.

I shouldn’t have let her go.

I should have told her to come with me.

 

The next night when she didn’t show up to our usual meeting spot, I went out and found her house. I snuck in through the back yard, not really caring about being caught. She had just fallen asleep is what I told myself. I went to her room’s window and slid it more open than it already was. I jumped in. I looked at her bed but it was empty.

And there in front of me she floated.

Underneath her feet was a note. I didn’t care though, I collapsed and felt tears wage a war against my pride. I reached out and touched her foot, but recoiled from my touch almost immediately…I couldn’t feel warmth, she was cold. Cold. Cold. Cold. Cold. Cold. Cold. Cold. Cold. Cold. Cold. Everything around me became cold, it felt like something had torn all warmth from me. I began to resist reality and grabbed her hand, half expecting her to touch my face and laugh at how I reacted.

But it was limp. Cold, stony and limp. I hugged her and my entire body felt like it was freezing.

My knees shook, and gave out. I fell to the ground with my tears, but I don’t remember ever making a noise. The writing on the note underneath her was in her hand. I read it, I even memorized it so I could tell her, hoping that this was all a dream and I had fallen asleep back home.

She was begging me to live, her note never said a name but it was aimed at me. She told me to live, and that the only reason she had died was because she was no longer pure. She wrote something about her father doing something to her, but it was all smudged and hard to read. I didn’t understand at all. Why didn’t she run to me? Why didn’t she come to me about her problems like I went to her? Did she trust me? Did she hate me? Why am I alive when she was my reason for living?

I ran home, crying the entire way. I tripped and fell, smashing my nose against the pavement, probably breaking it too.

I have to wake up from this nightmare. Once it’s over I can console myself in her arms. Once it’s over we can hold each other and run away together because I would tell her that we’re getting married. I would tell her to stay with me, and that I would stay with her.

The morning came quickly, and I kept myself locked in my room. When I woke up my nose was clogged with blood, and I still had her note in my hand. The boulder in my throat prevented me from breathing and I collapsed.

 

Four days later my family moved back to my hometown.

Not one of them knew a thing.

Age 12, 7th grade. I stabbed myself in the stomach hoping the tiny blade I had would puncture my stomach and the acids would slowly eat away at my body. It didn’t work.

I hated myself and the world. What was the point without her?

Why didn’t I tell her?

 

Age 13, 8th grade. I crashed my bike on purpose, going head first over the handle bars. This wasn’t suicide then, it’s an “accident” I told myself. Instead of dying I broke my arm. Now I have a scar that looks like I attempted suicide…Ironic, right?

Everything around me was disgusting. I hated school, I hated people, I hated nature, I hated music, and I hated everything that she can no longer do. I hated myself most of all.

If only I had told her to run away with me…

I can’t kill myself though—she wouldn’t want to see me after I killed myself.

I should have told her…

 

Age 14, freshman year of high-school. I swam for a class, wishing that I would hit my head and pass out, so I could drown in the water. I ran in cross country and indoor track, half-assing my way through my life and school. Soccer came around and I felt worse than ever.

I picked up writing again, but found that my written voice was stained with the coldness of her death. I can’t write with the warmth that I used too.

I feel like there’s a hole in my chest. I don’t really feel much from my chest anymore. It’s just empty and cold. The hole is full of the emotions I showed her, amounting to nothing. I should have told her I loved her at least once…

I never did say it. I was embarrassed, but that’s no excuse to not tell her.

I was just weak and too naïve, to tell her what she meant to me.

I didn’t tell her anything.

No wonder she killed herself.

If I told her she would have had to think about it longer…and I could have stopped her.

I don’t care what her father did to her, I just want her here. I want to feel my body melt from her smile.

 

Age 15, sophomore year of high-school. I hated myself even more, but I stopped hating the world, nature, music and people. They didn’t do anything wrong. It was me that did everything wrong. I immersed myself in my writing, living a life that wasn’t my own. I pushed my nose into a fictional book, or played a video game so I could escape my life, whenever I wanted too. I cried for the fictional characters that suffered or may have gone through what I did. I felt bad that anyone in the world had to feel what I felt.

I decided that if I wasn’t to die early on I would be a teacher. I can at least help people who have suffered like I have. When people ask me about why I want to teach, I lie and tell them it sounds fun, when honestly I just want to protect others from pain and loss.

I began isolating myself from everyone around me more and more. They tried to get me to open up, so I made a mask that I wore in front of all of them.

I found that stretching helps me sleep at night. Even if I have nightmares and I wake up, then I can slowly cry myself back to sleep.

Nightmares plagued me this year. My writing took a turn for the worse, and I decided to write about suffering instead of romance. Tragedies became my forte, and romance became my weakness.

A lot of people tell me I’m kind, and whenever I hear this I make a mental note to make myself suffer more and more. If I could I would take all the hate and anger in the world even if it’s only for a minute.

I hated myself, but at the same time began clinging to the ideal that I can at least change the world so that she and I would never have to be repeated.

The note she wrote for me, I finally understood what she meant when she wrote it. She was raped by her father, and she felt that I wouldn’t accept her after that, so she ended her life while I only knew the pure her. If I could talk to her again, I would hit her to start with, then probably cry my eyes out. I’d hold her. I’d tell her how happy and sad I was to be seeing her again. I would tell her everything I never said. I’d kiss her and hold her and shield her from all the hatred in this haunting world.

I had burnt the note and used the ashes to burn a ring around my finger.

 

Age 16, junior year of high-school. Despite my self-loathing, I found that if I isolate myself from people and focus on music, writing or nature that I don’t feel terrible. I’m still plagued by nightmares, but now the nightmares are changing. Instead of reliving the scene, now I’m seeing what could have been different if she hadn’t been raped or killed herself. The longing for seeing her smile and hearing her laugh again tears me apart.

People at school don’t know anything about me. My parents don’t even know.

I’ve stopped trying to kill myself. Chances are I wouldn’t die anyways. I’m not meant to be with her, so I’m just going to make the world better for when she’s reborn. When she comes back to this beautiful world, I hope that she can at least see the things she enjoyed in this life and enjoy them then. I want her to be as happy as possible. Even if it means that I have to suffer a lifetime.

I began cursing myself for my failure. If only I had been eaten by a shark when I was 5—If only it wasn’t a dolphin, maybe she’d still be alive and happy with someone else.

My happiness means nothing…only hers is important.

I tortured myself. I starved myself for five days, hoping that maybe, just maybe it would be enough punishment to make up for the bad karma I had.

I began having more memory like dreams, and I realized that my past lives were mostly that of criminals and a man who abuses those around him with no heed to anyone but his own happiness. I cursed my whole life, and began thinking of anything to brand myself as a cursed person.

I would have marked myself with a tattoo but it would make getting a job as a teacher much more difficult.

I should have told her…

I wished for an early painful death.

 

Age 17, senior year of high-school. I began obsessing over nature and I’ve been taking care of plants. I’ve also been making sure that when I walk I avoid stepping on anything living. I realized that everything has a family and that if I kill anything I’m tearing the families and loved ones apart. If I didn’t have to eat I wouldn’t. If I didn’t need to drink…I wouldn’t. Wasting the resources of this world on myself is pointless, I won’t ever be able to repair the damage I have done, but I can at least try to amend myself for it.

I really enjoy running out into the desert around my hometown and sitting down to think about what to write next. I also think that if I don’t achieve my dreams that I might as well become a hermit in some mountains. Maybe I won’t be able to influence anyone with my words, but perhaps I can start a religion or something if I write a lot and live in a cave…or something.

Even though I hate it, I still eat meat. I try to tell myself that it’s for a better future for her, but sometimes it takes a lot just to swallow a piece of any animal. It could have been her soul in that animal, and now I’m eating her…

I miss her, her smile, her laugh, her pose.

She’s dead, and no one can see her smile or her laugh anymore. No one can make her happy, or persuade her from tears. No one can comfort her, and no one can be comforted by her. She’s gone.

She’s…gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s gone…and I’m the one who made her go.

 

Age 18, first year of college. I’ve noticed that when I’m not out in nature that I feel out of place. I don’t feel right in towns without many trees or mountains that I can sit and stare at.

This was also the age that I first told anyone about her. I felt like there was only one professor who I could trust and felt like he might understand was told. He patted my shoulder and told me that through determination and will, if I crave it, it will be mine.

When he said that, pent up feelings fell off me and I felt a little relief. It was probably the first time I’ve cried in front of a class in a long time.

My life is only beginning. I can change everything in the world if I have too. I only hope that I can keep her soul from any more pain.

I became obsessed with floriography at this age. I found that I can express emotions clearly and abstractly through a single flower. I found that willows and marigolds are the two plants that represent me the best, but at the same time I found that the marigold scares me, and reminds me of her. They shine brightly, while hiding the weight of its existence behind that glowing façade.

This year, I’ve tried taking down my masks. They fall slowly, but they fall. People who knew me by a different mask have begun calling me weird and strange. Saying that I’ve always been different, but suddenly I’ve changed a lot. They said stress, inwardly I said I hadn’t changed—I’m the same person just not wearing that mask they know.

Three days after my birthday, I wondered if she would accept me if I did die before making a world for her. Then while I was driving, and while I was continually thinking of what would happen if I did die. If I didn’t make a world for her, would she hate me? Would she accept me, as the monster that I am? I almost drove off the road. I didn’t want to die, but I wanted to at the same time. The paradox split me and I chose to let the world decide. The car spun across the lanes of the interstate and went off the road into a ditch. When I got out of it, I was both happy and sad. The mountains and rock formations nearby made me feel better. There wasn’t a scratch on me, a lot like how these mountains have been here for so long. They take the anger of the rain and snow every year yet never fall. I breathed in deeply and then put on a mask as people came to make sure I was okay.

Although okay, I do wish I could have at least been hurt.

It’s my fault she died, but for whatever reason I don’t even get a scratch on me when I spin out going over 70 miles an hour. The world is crueler than I thought.

 

Age 19, second year of college. I am not worthy to live in this beautiful world. I am unworthy because of my sins, but the world wishes me to change. So I must, I will endure hell, heaven, and all that comes between if it means making the world a better place for her to live in.

At the same time it’s beautiful, the world is so cruel. Like a mistress of evil. Deceptively dazzling, but cold, cruel, and coarse. I guess the world is just like me, focused only on one thing, everything else is worthless when compared to that one desire…

My heart throbs whenever I think of her, but let the pain of whatever it is rack my body. I miss her, so of course it’ll hurt. This pain is just a fraction of what she went through. It’s miniscule compared to the suffering of the world.

I wish I could have at least told her the things I wanted her to hear.

Maybe the outcome would be different, but the regret eats at me like maggots eating a corpse. These regrets remind me that I couldn’t die even when I tried to end it all. I should have told her at least once—I don’t remember ever telling her I loved her. I never thought that she would die and disappear from my life. My time with her felt like a dream that I can’t remember but want to recall.

Let my regrets grind me into the ground. They can chain every inch of my cursed body.

I should have told her everything.

Why didn’t I tell her?

I wish I could relive that moment,

just to tell her the things I left unsaid.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you ever get to see this, it’s not your fault. When we met, and after that…You made me the happiest person alive. I think anyone in the world would have been jealous to have had you. So please, survive this. I’m no longer pure, no longer capable of being your love. Even if you forgive me, I wouldn’t forgive myself for having lost what was taken. You wanted to tell me something, but I ran from you when I should have stayed and held you. You looked scared, but no matter how big this world is, remember that I’m there beside you. I want you to be happy, so find someone else and make sure that you make them as happy as I was. Anyone with a heart will know what I mean. I’m going to make you feel pain, and I don’t feel bad about that. I know you’re strong, my dearest knight in shining armor. I’m sorry. I’ll be going before you, just please, survive and find happiness without me. Please, live, my love.

 

 

 

I’ve been wondering

Do other people feel regret when they finish a book?

 

It seems that when I’m reading something that I think is amazing, I end up regretting that I ever read it in the first place, because now I likely won’t ever forget it. Then because I won’t forget it, I can never experience the joy of re-reading it. It’s kind of weird but this happens to me so often that I wish at times I could forget everything and relive my life.

I remember the times I’ve cried from sad endings or moments in books, video games and movies. I remember the times when I’ve cried because I was so happy that whatever happened actually happened.

And now I can’t forget those moments, so I can’t ever experience the joy or pain I felt at that exact moment. I wonder if this is the loss of innocence…or perhaps the truth behind becoming experienced. If the latter, please by all rights, take my experience and leave me as an innocent child so that I can live as I was

Not sure how to word this…

I’ve had issues with this single moment. The moment of writing beyond my experience in so many fields that I can’t even begin to imagine what the issue with how it’s being written is.

The issue I’m having is a song (I can’t do music well, but I do love listening to music so much that I’ve tried to at least write lyrics.) and of course I have to chose a song that can have double meanings based on who sings it (and triple meanings based on a later context within the story…hahahahaha.) If a man sings the song, it sounds as if he were suffering from depression, or in bondage or suffering from some other form of torture, then saved and experiencing love for the first time in forever/a long time. On the other hand, when a woman sings the song it’s meant to be a song about child bearing/child birth and the fears and passions felt during the process.

Ha! I’ll safely say that I’ve never, nor ever plan to push a child out. I’ll leave that up to my future wife.

I can usually get the wording down pretty good, but I can’t seem to evoke the emotions I desire when sung/read aloud. Actually… I usually feel like even my most emotional pieces are dry and don’t have an ounce of emotion in them.

 

Here’s the version of the song I’ve written recently (the original was lost in the fire);

“In the beginning there was darkness, nothing between us

yet when I gazed upon you I felt alive.

The void within me, created by the scars of my past was

filled with thoughts of you and your eyes.

Yet when I think of you all I can see is the murk

that had plagued me before, and I wish;

If you ever must suffer as I had, that I burn in dark

and suffer a thousand fold, yes this wish

Is what strikes. It burns and marks our future

with the light of our destiny shining clear.”

 

To me it doesn’t sound right for either, but when I try to re-write it it ends up being focused more on one of the others. What do you guys think?

 

I swear it’s such a pain; trying to write perfectly when all I can do is make my mistakes look pretty.

Part 1: End

So Part 1 is complete. It took me a heck of a lot longer than I thought it would, but I finished it, so I’ll be starting on part 2, and hopefully I’ll finish it before school starts so that I can start writing part 3 when I get the chance to do so. Now that I’ve passed the hill of depression that was preventing me from writing as often as I wanted to, I’ll likely try to finish Part 2 in about a week. The notes will lack my personal artwork for the story due to the loss of the notebook that had everything.

I’ll also be re-reading and editing Part 1 in an attempt to make it more similar to the original OR more fluid…It feels oddly chunky and reliant on “then” and “and” for transitions… “After” is also something I do too much in it…

 

Part 1: A Dance Among Blood-Stained Leaves.

 

END

 

Part 2: War’s Mud Covered Reprise

 

Start.

 

 

As always, enjoy reading and feel free to comment on anything!

-F.Aria Gawain.

Twisted Fate

Listen to our tale of those ruled by Fate.

In the world they live, plague and war

Siege their lives, all fueled by a single lie.

Death, suffering, hate, and pain is created

Through this never ending cycle of birth

And war. These two were born, one cursed

By her Father’s name, the other scorned by

Those he left to pursue her. Their meeting

Destined, occurred under the guise of

Blood raining around them on the field

Of death. Their fear of death led them to

the War. War led them to hate and suffering.

Yet when they met, on opposite sides

Of the field, their hearts raced. Their

Love led to fleeing the battlefield. Treachery,

Betrayal and Rage followed them to their

Escape, tracking them through the world.

Pinning them down in the tower of the sky.

Their families hunted and slayed their own children.

Only to find that an heir was left behind. Cursed with

Their parents genes, but innocent of all crimes.

He too molded the world around him, changing

The hate into peace. His heir led to more and his

Children all retained his cursed fate, and innocent

Strength. This First Child cursed with the name of

His traitorous Father, led to the Birth of the Last

Child. Born in the world of War and Plagues.

Only to lead yet again, to more War, Hate,

And Blood spilling over the land. The name

Plagued by silver blood leaves its mark on history.

Regardless of the age. Power flows in their veins, yet

Their cursed blood destroys those they need

And spares those they care not for. Love

Is a cruel thing. Bringing darkness and hate

Through the loss of a single soul.

Water

Water of my eyes. Flow, I plead with you.

Let these tears flow like falls, and birth

Life again. Let the pain that has befallen

the previous be a lesson to the current.

Rivers of sorrow, Ye who torment me

In a torrent of suffering. Bleed into

The ports of creation, and drop drips

Of inspiration into this grieving mouth.

Let the shadow that sinks into the marshes

Of my brain soon meet the sludge of the

Fen, all consuming. Let this imagination never

Cease to crash on the shores of lips and pages

They sail from shore to shore, cleaving gouges

Out of the land. Creating more paths for this

River called creativity to expand and explore.

Like jungles of rain that fall in a circle of

Seeping swamp. I pray to thee, to let this

majesty, this beauty, this ephemeral

Light fleet and scour the Earth in my name

Let it scar the land in rivulets of blood and

Honor. Mark it so that even the furthest

Reaches will know of this name… Of this

Seething passion gone stagnant in the

ponds of depression. Like Waves from a Lake

You strike more and more, pushing this

Stillness into life, and breaking the never-

Ending darkness that had taken hold.

Fire Fire Burning this Heart

Passion, Passion that seeks for its burning

Desire. Fire, Fire that burns through my love.

Ash, Ash crush this soul, smother it in pain.

Pain, Pain that withers our petals and pierces

Even the strongest wills with regret.

Should I have finished thee?

Should I have protected thee?

Yet that which has yet to be finished

Is now, burnt to ash by this passion, desire,

And wistful flame. As the petals of my love

Flake and fall, as if drops of raging blood.

 

Torn

Crushed

Smoldering

Disintegrated

These are that which have afflicted my

Child, as she was torn from my loving

Arms, and passionate embrace. Yet,

She lives on. My lingering memories

Flit, and remind me of the hours and

Moments that she and I had spent.

No regret for time past, only regret

For time that can no longer exist.

 

I attempt to craft another, in her likeness,

Only fearing failure. What child can be

recreated? What child wishes to be replaced?

Yet those who have been rejected by my

hateful gaze are no longer in this world. How

Can I continue to live, with all my children

Lying dead around me, turning to ash.

Ashes, Ashes, they all pile up. Changed from

Their appearance at birth, and I the parent

Can no longer recognize their features, nor

The gifts and grace they have granted my

soul, now plagued by nightmares. Cold

Hands grip the hot remains,  and as the river of

The eye flows, tears flood the plains. Child,

O Child of mine. Who I have not loved as I

should. Can thee forgive this disgusting human

You once called Father?

 

Child, Child who aided my sleep. Child,

Child who soothed my dreams. Child, Child

who lies in my arms. Child, Child I love you.

Child, O’ Child who can no longer sing to me.

Goodbye.

 

 

 

 

 

May your eternal sleep bring you peace and tranquility

Push thy pains onto your Father, let him be tormented

By that which he believed to be pointless. Child, O’ Child

Of mine. I wish thee the happiest. In my heart I shall keep

The memories of our life together.

I love thee.

And in love I shall never forget you who can no longer

Smile, cry, love, laugh, and grieve.

Child, O’ my Child

How I wish to see thee.

 

Recent Events

So yeah, my apartment was hit by a fire (possibly arson) and that destroyed all my research (for upcoming writing projects), my poetry, and all my physical writing. Which happens to include For the Tower Pierces it All, which has been really depressing for me. I mean…to me my writing is like my children, so someone pretty much just killed all my children…It hurts.

I’ve memorized FTPA, but I didn’t want to have to re-write it because I loved how the style worked out…Also I spent like two years or so actively writing what I have (mostly because I only write between classes.) I’m not sure how it’ll work out from now on.

Sigh.

Don’t worry though I’ll keep updating FTPA, but I have to write from memory and not from my notebook. A little sad since I was planning on doing Part 3 over the summer, and update every two weeks. I’m probably gonna update every two weeks like I planned, but I’ll need a ton of time for Part 3, since I’m still in the planning process for it, and having to remember and rewrite everything I’ve written since I was 12 is going to give me nightmares.

It’s very likely that my posts are going to be a couple thousand words, and that I’ll continually edit them as well. I originally planned to edit the story itself so that I can utilize more of the story, but now that I’ve lost all of it, I’ll have to remember each part and if I planned anything different.

I swear…I’m beyond depressed. Like more than when people important to me died, depressed. I never thought it’d hurt this much to lose something that isn’t human…

T~T

Looking forward to writing for you guys.

-Franz Aria Gawain

Show me…

So as the school year begins to stutter and die, I’ll be able to post more and more. Though honestly my postings are going to be updates to ForTPA, which I finished up to part 2, which is something like 50,000 words or so…alone…Part one is about 30,000. Part 3 is supposed to be the majority of the story though…So it’ll probably end up capping out at around 135k-175k words.

Gosh, I write a lot in the few 5 minute breaks I get during school. Then again, thats probably why my students make fun of me so much. Oh well, I like it and they like listening to what I read out to them.

Anyways, the beginning of May will probably have a flood of writing (probably upwards of 30,000 words) then I’ll slow down to around 5,000 words words every two weeks (maybe every week.) The issue is that once I get too far into the story I’ll have to break to write on part 3. The break could be an entire school year (Part 3 will probably be finished by then…hopefully.) or I could try my best to write for bi-weekly postings.

 

A student asked me if they could draw some art (or make music) for my story, and I said yes. I can’t post their art on the internet, because they didn’t want it to be seen by people outside my class. So I’m extending the offer to people on the web. If you feel like it, go ahead and make anything for what I write (I like fan-ficitons of my fan-fiction too.) post it on some sort of viewable site, then comment/send me a message with a link, (only one…and make the site recognizeable like photobucket, reddit, or Youtube (post title of the image/story/song next to link) I’ll make a post with it, and try to find a way to post it on the same page that the art/music/fan-fic was made from. I tend to respect anyone who can do something I can’t (art, music, and generally sexy scenes in writing [T~T]) so don’t feel bad about what you might post or show me. I’ll most likely like it, and I’m not a heartless person who would ignore someones hard work.

Ya’ll can be as imaginative as possible… show me thy passion.

-F. Aria Gawain

P.S: If robots take over the little system I’m trying out, I’ll come up with another way to do this…I think.

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