A Short One

My Dearest Isaacs,


I think that I fall in love far too quickly. I can see the potential of a relationship in the first sixty seconds of the conversation. So for me, there is no use in delaying that feeling. I don't fear for my heart. Well I do... But I let it run wild as far as it pleases. I just wish I wasn't alone in this...

When I meet a person, when I look into their eyes, I can see all the love that I can give them, all the love that they deserve. But they don't see it the same way... Or they fear it... I don't know...

I'm confused, Isaacs. I'm either delusional about all things that are love or simply impatient. I don't know what it is about me that yearns to be loved in the same manner, at the same speed. I'm the kind of soul that is ready to say "I love you" as soon as I see the possibility of love. And usually it backfires with a ricochet of disappointment and shame.

I hate to be made ashamed of my feelings. I hate feeling this way. I hate having to hide what is inside me. I wish I didn't have to. I wish it didn't make me feel so distant... So plain... I'm starting to feel like I'm dosing away emotionally. And that everything starts to fall apart. At least in my head it does...

Everyone around me is synchronising and I feel like the opposite side of the magnet. I wear my heart on my sleeve and I speak of love in theory. I'm an idealist. Or maybe a theorist? The practical part is the pain. I love in circles and she loves in squares. Can this work in the real world, Isaacs?

52 Hertz

My Dearest Isaacs,

It has been a whole years since  my exile. Three hundred and sixty five days. It is a cold land. Where people don't see much.

I've been having the most wretched dreams, Isaacs. Ever since I was a mere child, I've dreamed that I am fighting the world of the undead. Not rotting bodies. But souless ones. They walked among us, blank black eyes. You could see that their soul was gone. It has only now dawned on me that my worst dreams have come true. Here, in this cold land I see them. Walking aimlessly, from home to work, from work to the gym, from the gym home. And repeat till their bodies fall apart. I try to speak to these people and they can't hear me. I feel lost.

I have not fallen from grace. Not yet. I have merely refused to compromise. To settle for mediocrity. I can see these people, their potential. Their subconscious. They choose to ignore it and I can't understand why. Why would you chose to be less than what you can be? They have the power to overthrow the world! To make true, everlasting, change. But they CHOOSE not to! They use words without giving it any weight or meaning. What is love? What is a home? What is a friend? These words are uses with not one thought of responsibility!

It has be 12 months since I left, Isaacs. And I am not good. Nor am I bad. I have peered deep inside myself and took out all the broken parts and threw them away. I am now looking for pieces to replace them. It is quite a task to find such pieces because they are not just simply made now a days. I have spent all this time avoiding this problem that I have found myself in an era where they are made for the sake of quantity and not quality. These things I wish to have in my heart, they are not simple to come by. When I say I want a love, I don't mean a fuck. When I say I want a home, I don't mean a house. And when I say I want a friend... Oh Isaacs! Brother! I want a true friend!

It has been fifty two weeks and I have yet to make a friend. I feel lonely and this loneliness consumes me. I make beautiful things out of it, I do. But beauty is not all in this world. I lost my equilibrium. There must be balance in your heart, and mine is gone. I remember when I had a friend. Friends actually. Who would stop all they are doing to come to my aid. And I did the same for them. I came by the oddest of things in this land. I found that people just don't want to be friends anymore. They feel the weight of the responsibility to be too much. The effort to be too much. When you try to assist them they attack you as if you are trying to hurt them! People here are odd indeed.


I am a big creature roaming the vast seas. They catch a glimpse of me from time to time. They don't see me, though. They hear me. The creatures from above. They hear my song at fifty two hertz. My cry. But my own people, they can't hear me. My sound is too low. My love comes in circles while theirs comes in squares. My heart is stupid and new and they try to make me feel ashamed of my love but I never will be.


Should I stop, Isaacs? Should I compromise? Should I change? I don't want to... I don't know if I can. But I don't want to be alone anymore.

It has been eight thousand, seven hundred and sixty five hours since my exile. In three minutes the clock will strike midnight and a new year will begin. What should I be this year? Or who?


Thirty one million, five hundred fifty five thousand, nine hundred twenty six second. And I wish someone would see me...

Illumination!

Do you believe in love, Isaacs? I do. I'm not sure if I'm afraid to admit it or that I have truly convinced myself that I do not…

I was told by a friend that I am the most guarded person that she has ever met. It might be true… I have been through some unpleasant things, to say the least…

Years ago I would do this thing, I would sit on the balcony looking at the night skies, smoking and drinking a beer. I would inhale and exhale and drink and get as drunk as I possibly can. Now, there would be the beginning, where I would start feeling tipsy, and then I would become drunk. But between these two moments existed a different place. Between each step, each breath, each heartbeat, there is a moment, outside of life, outside of words, outside of any meaning you have ever sought. There was a moment of clarity for me, where I could feel the rhythm of all the heartbeats and the steps of this world. It was like an orchestra of souls coming together, Isaacs. I would laugh and cry at the same time and this dark world of colours would be at peace in my own heart. And no one would even notice that I have dug so deep into their soul. I felt so infinite…

As you well know, I don’t drink anymore, and after I stopped I sought this feeling, this awakening, in everything I did. Last time I remember feeling it was when I lost my mind. When the world was spinning and falling apart and it became a dangerous place for the like of us, Isaacs. That world in which my friend, Daniel, died. I remember not being able to breath. I was suffocating. I thought I was dying. I remember thinking that this must be it, this is the greatest of pains a human can ever contain. I closed my eyes and then it came! That feeling! When you just let go… When you stop being a human. When you become a beat in this rhythm. When the world moves and you with it. I felt this tingling sensation in my stomach and in waves it started coming over me! I saw the world…

Since then I have not felt this feeling again... Till today.

I was sitting in the garden with a (nonalcoholic) beer, smoking a cigarette and looking and the dark skies. This thing came over me… This feeling of inspiration, realization, that I am love… That I believe in it. I have loved Daniel. I have loved you. I have loved so many people. I have an old soul that I can barely manage to handle, so I have no right to request others around me to love it. I have no right to get frustrated when they realize that they can’t.

But I can love. I have this uneasy yearning to love. And not this shitty ass “love”, fake love with all the heart signs and text. But this true muscle clenching, heart ceasing, being swept of your feet, eye tearing love! The poetry by the lake, the smiles from afar, the noticing of the small twitches in her eyes when she’s angry, when she’s sad, when she’s making plans, when she’s falling in love, when she’s feeling cocky, corky, horny, whatever!

You see this is my odyssey, this is my entire creation, this is my Sistine chapel. This is me growing bigger and stronger the farther I go. My love is my fuel. It drives me further than you will ever know. This is my dear unforgiving faith. It is it that steers through the darkness of lies, fear and flaws in the human nature. It is its stubbornness and pleads to the Will to go on. The relentless cries that echo through the pits of nothing, that show the way to what is right. It is the sun that shall forever rise and undress itself of all clouds, second per second, to reveal the luminosity of the wonder above. That firm faith that proves that you will not fall into an empty hole that never ends. That faith that leads the journey, to the conquest of the edge of love, to prove, that you will have wings to rise above and solid ground to stand on. It is my drunken bliss in a sea of sober chaos.

I can see it, Isaacs! What others can’t see, I can! I see the beauty, I walk alone. I know it. I accept it. I cry in movies. My heart gets broken when it rains and snails get stepped on. I draw my pain away. I unleash my anger when I work out. I strive! I run! I run so fast! I love! I can fucking love! In the most beautiful way, better than you can ever imagine or hope for yourself! I can love! Faster than anyone else can, I can read into your soul and see into the true depths of your heart! I can love! Even if you fail, even if you hurt, even if you let your anger take over your entire being, I will still love you because I can.

I can love! I can love so much!

I just choose not to…

Rage

Dear Isaacs,

"You have very seductive eyes" She told me.
"What ever do you mean?" I asked.
"Your eyes just scream 'I want to fuck you. You know you want it too'" She smiled and lowered her eyes.
"And do you?" I know she does. I can see it in her eyes. I don't care. This bores me.

I blame you for this, Isaacs. I was perfectly satisfied with my shallow lifestyle. I was pretty satisfied not thinking about it. What if there is more? What if I didn't lose my innocence? What if love does exist?

My logical mind and my romantic heart keep clashing. My natural instincts kick in. Do I fight or flee?
I will flee. Why, you ask? Because I do not compromise. Not even in the face of Armageddon.
I keep meeting people too much like me. Lost. Either their faith or their innocence. But lost.
There is no way for me to come out of this as less than an asshole. I am a douche. I don't want to be the one cleaning their life up. I've been doing that for far too long. I am through being a saviour. I want someone optimistic. Someone who'd remind me how it feels like to find meaning in the suffering. How it is to feel alive.

I feel stupid. I hate admitting it. Even to you. I feel like a child wishing magic would exist. Not knowing it is all but a trick. But here I am. I admit it. I believe in love. And I hate it. With all my heart. Not love itself, but me believing in it. I curse it. It has caused me nothing but pain.

Let me tell you about pain, about rage, when you wander this planet, you see things. You see things no one else sees. You look in someone's eyes and you know what's keeping them up at night. What makes them sad, happy, what they are, who they are. I don't know what they're thinking. I can only see into what is hidden inside them, what they don't see themselves.

It's ugly, Isaacs. I hate it so much. The more you see, the more you know, the less you allow yourself to feel. To the point where you can't even remember how it is like to feel. How does it feel like? I can see our future. I meet a person and I know what they will be to me. Just sex, usually. And it breaks my heart, as much as it can break a non existing notion, when you like the person that stands in front of you, but you know they are not for you.

I am tired. I look out there and I'm tired. And I know I will be tired for quite a long time. What do we do, Isaacs? What do we do when we know that we are no longer dying? What do we do when we find out that we just no longer exist?

Barking Up The Wrong Tree

Oh, Isaacs...

I truly believe that you are. Barking up the wrong tree, that is. I have long forgotten about my heart. Having something so far away from you makes the recollection blurry. I've spent months and months of using my anger to ameliorate my soul to compensate the lack of my heart. Yes, I am heartless. But not in the way Brothers Grimm stories would describe it. I am not mean or evil. I do good deeds. But not out of the kindness of my heart. But from my soul that honours the knowing of that gentle thing that once inhabited my chest.

For weeks now I have worked my flesh to the bone. Pushing and pulling. Lifting and dropping. Just to avoid feeling anything but the ripping of my flesh. And the healing of it. Millions and millions of cells regrouping, regenerating. Emerging bigger and stronger. Becoming an epitome of what a human should be.

I used to believe, maybe I still do, that one day there would come a person who would amend that. Who had travelled barefoot through the deserts of the scolding sun and would stumble across my long lost heart just to wonder who it belongs to, and would bring it back to its rightful resting place. I might have met this person. They might have tried to put it back and I wouldn't let them. Or they might have never existed to begin with. I cannot truly believe someone would dare to make this kind of journey.

But if you wish for my counsel, I shall tell you this:
The way to let someone in, to find a place for them in your heart, is to just do it.
We all live in this cage of bones surrounded by flesh and skin. An unpleasant sight to behold. We are pretty disturbing creatures, we are. But know that no one holds a key to your heart. It is a lockless cage. Opening it is quite a task. You need to remove you sternum first, that is the beginning. Then you need to break the costal cartilages. Let them crumble. Your ribs will follow suite. They will fall like figs to your feet. Then, when the deed is done, she will find it. You wont need to point it out for her. She will find a place in your heart herself. She will build a bonfire in your chest and let you feel that the sun is warm and gives life, not just burning.

So just do it, Isaacs. She will find a way in herself. All you need to do is believe her when she says she will.

No Place

Stacy, 

Save me, please. I think I've forgotten how to love. I'm consumed by apathy, I feel so... numb. It's not often I undergo the painful process of self reflection, it is much easier to judge everything else in this universe then one self. I'm really sorry for this self centered letter; but my soul is troubled and I really need your council.   

It's now three years since I was in a meaningful relationship. Three years since I let someone in. At first I was just picky; I wanted it to be special, I wanted to pick right, we ain't kid's anymore and in my set of sexual orientations serious relationships create baby's; I wanted to get it right. You know my soul, its hurtfully romantic, I wanted it to be glorious, to have the kind of love the movies try unsuccessfully to copy. But slowly I kind of forgot how to. 

There was -  is - was, is a huge place in my heart for another special person, a confusingly large space much larger then what defines me; it feels like slowly but surely it shrank and shrank without me noticing until one day I woke up and there is no place at all. 

We lie to ourselves - say they don't understand us, say they aren't umm enough, there's always something wrong. But in all honesty I don't know how to let them in! I realize that now, but know not how to fix it. 

She radiates goodness; It's like her soul has a glowing aura, it feels like she's the epitome of kindness. She's beautiful; STUNNING actually, and smart and nice. She lights up rooms,  She brakes my heart just by being there, and makes it race when we look at each other or exchange casual sentences. Stacy I tell you - she's amazing.

I caught a fancy for this girl who's taking a course with me lately and now I realized I have no place in my heart - because no matter how much my dark mind tried it found no obvious fault and then it hit me - I no longer know how to deal with a girl I actually want or respect; I don't know how to hit on her, we speech, we smile and...I don't know how to let her in. I don't have that place any more, I don't have place for new friends either in all honesty.  Every single time I got laid recently it was either essentially based on a lie or more commonly a curtuess continuation of dancing (we danced --> I'm a hot dancer --> we carried on dancing --> she clang --> came home --> there was no polite way not to have sex) I LOVE dancing relationships, but non turned out to eventually be serious. It sounds like I live your old old life, it isn't true, I don't much like loveless sex, don't engage in it often, I try to avoid it (I told some tourist I'm gay and just offered her a place for the night sorry about the misunderstanding the other day chat me up for details, it was an epic getaway)

But Stacy - THERE IS NO PLACE IN MY HEART. I mean there is, I know there is, but I can't find it. I'm sitting here searching and I just can't find it. I can't imagine another person as a meaningful part of my life. Something dear to me is slipping away, and I don't know how to save it, really I don't. I need to find the place in my heart, and I'd like it very much to happen before it's too late for this one girl. 

Please, 

Happy Birthday?

Dear Isaacs,

We’re here again. It has been one more year. I'm now exactly 23 years old. I don’t want to whine about my age, it’s not the number that bothers me. Well Sort of…

Let me begin by explaining that in the last few days I have found myself trying to explain different aspects of my life to people. The experience has left me without words. Literally. I kept trying and trying to explain the reason behind my actions and failed over and over again. It was like I live in my own different country with its own language and everything makes sense. To me that is, but not to outsiders. I am deeply frustrated by this, so you must excuse me, my dearest Isaacs, but I wish to use my own words here. And if you find that you fail to understand me as well, please do me the kindness of not mentioning it.

As I was saying, it is not the number itself, it is what stands behind it. The amount of experiences and feelings. It is the love… ah! The love! I have been walking around trying to understand love. I have asked most of the people in my day to day life, what is that thing that they call love. Some said it is compromise, some said it was hard work, others said it is chance. It seemed funny to me. It seemed they have mistaken the word “love” with “relationship”. Needless to say I was baffled. It was one thing that one of them said. Kelly, Rodrigo’s fair half, that told me the heartbreaking truth when I asked her if she believes in that one true love. She said she does, that it’s possible to meet your other half. But that we usually just fuck it up. I felt terrified. If it is meant to be, how is it that we can break it? How can one break fate, Isaacs?

I'm trying to figure out what I have learned in these 23 years of life… I don’t know. I have met so many people. I have been a good person. I have been a horrible person. I did drugs and drank, and then I stopped. I used to be scared but then I also used to believe I was the hero. I have met people. Beautiful people. And I saw them die. Taken away for no reason but the whim of evolution. I have known people so beautiful whose innocence has been taken away from them by people so evil.
I’ll be honest to you, Isaacs, I am soon to lose someone I love. I don’t really know how to deal with it. Mainly because I don’t know what to do about it. Did you ever feel it is time to let go and let life and fate take its course, and yet you can’t? You can’t accept that the ending of the story is such a horrible one? How does one decide to let go of someone he love so dearly? More than life itself… I have a feeling it will bring the end of me. I don’t think I will be able to bounce back from this one.

This world is confusing. I find the people in it terribly confusing. Myself included, Isaacs. I have seen people lie and cheat, fuck other people up just for shits a giggles. I'm really starting to hate this world. I'm starting to feel sorry for myself for feeling hate. It’s not about the past any more I guess. The past is something I have left behind me when I left the country. Yet people forget how hard it is. What I'm trying to say is that I'm not trying to pity myself, because I chose this. And I am not going back. But it is hard. Starting over that is. Leaving everything you have ever known behind and trying to start over. People forget that when they look at you. All they see is a lonely girl. And I am. It is lonely here. And cold. And harshly ruthless. But I am trying. I really am trying.

What I am trying say to you here, Isaacs, is that it is not I who speak a foreign language, but everyone else. It is not the world that doesn't understand me. It is I who doesn't understand the world. I used to think it was something else. It is just not what I expected. I don’t know if any of this makes any sense. It’s late and I'm tired. In a few minutes it will be midnight and I will be born. And it will be another year and I am still confused. But I'm trying. I really am trying to understand. And if not to understand than at least to love. But it’s hard, Isaacs. It really is hard. But I'm not giving up. I'm still trying…

Just a Love

My dearest Isaacs,

My dear friend, I would like to tell you about a love. A love I have in my heart for a brave girl. She is full of light, love, compassion and patience. It took me a while to see it. I saw it only when her light disappeared. Which is such a shame. She was the kind of person that you don't appreciate when she's there. She becomes a routine, but without her, you realize, that life is unbearable...

I will be honest, Isaacs. I do not know what true love is. I keep taking people for granted and love them only after I push them away. I have come to terms with who I am, so I live with it. But she was a true light, a true friend. A loss to this world. She had forgiveness in her heart. She forgave all them who did her wrong and gave them second chances to redeem themselves. People who have hurt her both emotionally as well as physically. She had courage in her heart to let her pain go. Forgive her trespassers. All of them. All but me.

I don't know what I keep mumbling on about, my friend. I guess I miss her a bit. She never did let me help her carry the weight. I wish she would have. Pride is a harmful thing. It will tear your soul apart if you let it. On the other hand if she would have let me in, her stories would have angered me. I would have wanted to tear down the walls of the men who harmed her. Thinking back though, I never really knew how to see her. How to understand her. How to love her. I tried wrapping my mind around it but I guess some things were never meant to be.

She is a beautiful soul, Isaacs. She truly is. And I love her with all my heart. And I wish she is loved today as she does deserve. So with this last token of love, I would like say goodbye to her. To wish her well. And if she is to cross my path in the far future, I would smile and mourn for the moments that we could have had. For I truly did love her.

Letting Down

I hate you. I love you. I hate that I love you.

I don't want to love you; it means hurting you so much, it means giving up so much.  

I have these cycles with you. First we are friends, and everything is fun and everything is easy.  It's always great: you really get me, and I you; we do awesome things, and we share awesome ideas.  We're in hyper drive whenever together, everything seems clear, the world is better, the sky is bluer, I am better. It's like there are five of me, all running inside myself. I love it, I love being around you, near you; it's so simple and easy. I want to have you as my best friend in the world, and hope we can both find someone to love one day. But then being around other people starts to suck, because they DON'T get me, and they don't put me in hyperdrive, and the world without you turns slow and grey and drab. Suddenly I don't like girls; I can't have sex with girls consistently, and they seem boring, dull, dreamless.  I suspect I'm gay and try guys, but that's worse. No one sees the world like us, no one is like that. Before I know it I want to spend my life beside you, fall asleep beside you and hold you through the night and wake up beside you in the morning. It's platonic and not platonic in a weird way - I never wanted to have sex with you, but god I wanted to wake up beside you. I'd like to go through life living in shitholes and eating every other day, or living in artsy apartments with countryside scenery; banana pancakes and fresh orange juice in the morning. And before I know it I'm resisting an unstoppable urge to get on the first plane and fuck the world. I resist that urge often.

And it feels like you kind of maybe sometimes feel the same. SO I RUN AWAY. I disappear.  I run away because I have to, because after a month without you I can date girls, and live a normal (if somewhat dull) life. I run away because I know, that if I pursue you properly – If I act upon the romantic nesting just below my skin and chase you round the world with grand romantic gestures and never let you go – well, there's a chance you might settle for me. You shouldn't; there are things you need I can never give you, not just physical stuff. I don't always love you; it sort of comes and goes - sometimes you just annoy me and seem petty and childish and stupid. When you're annoying you are really annoying. I run away because if either of us is ever to love someone properly – I need you to stay a small portion of my life, inspiring but containable, and when we are close, well, you never had a girlfriend either in the time's we were close.

So I let you down – again and again, I disappear and I disappoint time and again. I really am a good guy; I'm not a letter downer, it's only with you. It happens when it gets to intense; when your spirit overwhelms me so much that I can barely stop myself from walking or driving or flying to wherever you are. So I disappear, get a life, get a girlfriend, go all the way down to kind of missing you and go through the cycle again. I didn't think I'd get there blogging, blogging seemed relaxed when we spoke of it.   

In a way I don't love you much, but in a certain way I love you so much. I think you have more loving capacity then me - I think you can truly love a bunch of people; It doesn't work like that for me – I love dancing girls, and I like pretty girls, and I like articulate girls and I like a whole lot of girls, but well, I can't love them and you, so sometimes, when it's healthy for me, and I hope it's okish for you I disappear on you.

I hope you understand... Kind of.

I love you from the bottom of my heart, but I really do not like loving you very much. Or maybe I'm just a dumb coward. It's fucking complicated.

Talking to the walls

Dear Isaacs,

I've been talking to the walls lately. More or less like I am doing right now. I've been writing these letters to you and I have not heard from you for a while. But don’t feel guilty. You are not the only one.

I sat in my room drinking a beer and just stared at the blue-green walls. I was wondering what would be simpler. To tell them how I feel or to tell the people. Eventually the result would be the same.
People assume they know you head to toe. They know how you feel, what you think. Am I easy to read, Isaacs? Can she really know what I feel for her?

I'll be honest, I was never good with words. I was never the first one to say "I love you". I was only able to say it when I didn't. And when I did, the words just didn't fly out of my mouth. They just hid there behind my teeth, fearing that if they come out, it all becomes real. And then? Then the pain begins.

I'm not saying my pain. Probably hers. Or mine. I have no clue, Isaacs. I spoke to Halo a couple of days ago. She told me she never understood why I broke up with her. Seeing that question, from my first love, I thought of letting her know that I'm a cunt. That she should have known better. But I just told her that she was simply not the one.

I always thought of myself as a simple person. All you need to do is just love me and I will love you back. That's not true. I should have warned her that I was a hypocrite. That I wanted things in her that she couldn't give. That I'm no good in communication. That I would never tell her what's going on with me and hope she will read my mind. That unless she asks me an exact question, I will never give her an exact answer. I need patience and to be taught how to show what is in my heart.

But to stand there and tell me that I don't care enough? To tell me that I am not to be trusted with a heart? To just disappear from my life as if I am nothing? Never speak a word on why? I'm a hypocrite, I am. But God damn, so are YOU! I have been called a lot of things in my life. But I try. I never walk out. I never give up. I try to push as hard as I can until it starts to hurt. Until there is not more force in me.  I have done horrible things.

But I have never broken a heart on purpose.

I Love you

I've drowned myself in you for a moment, but then I woke up. I got up, dusted you off and started walking away, not looking back. I walked through a desert of hangovers and addictions, parched. I remember my sole-less feet stepping on the dry land, my gaze searching for a shade. Looking to the horizon, I loved you.

I kept walking day and night, my feet bleeding, my soul weeping. Climbing the rocks on the hills on a land so vast. I stopped when all went grey and rain started falling on my face. Looking up to these skies, stretching my arms out wide, I loved you.

I kept walking till the sun came up, my soaking wet body, I decided to get rid of my clothes. They felt heavy and wrong. I shed them off as the sun came up and pealed them away from my skin. The cold wind brushing through my hair, my eyes closed, I loved you.

I climbed mountains and the higher I went, the colder it got. I cut my hands on the rocks, the dirty roads and my shameful regrets. I came to the pick and stood there, the snow falling on my dark hair, missing my warm clothes, taking one last breath before the jump, I loved you.

Falling seemed like forever. Painful, frightening, yet liberating. Infinite. I felt infinite. I started forgetting. My mind went blank. I knew nothing more of the past. I landed in a field and made my way into the woods. Cuts and scratches from all the branches. My feet ached no more, with a purpose in my heart, some peace in my mind, I loved you.

I came to a pond. I kneeled down to drink and saw a face in the reflection in the water. I did not know who it was. It was mine but I did not recognize it. It was me of my past. I tried to reach, I tried to touch it, but the moment I did, it disappeared and your face came up in this reflection. I lied and wept on your lap. I cried away the pain while you were passing you fingers through my hair, telling me it will be OK. Telling me it will pass. I looked at you. I knew. Right there I knew. For the first moment in my life I knew who you are. Who you are, and that I love you.

Wake Up Call

My dearest Isaacs,

I woke up pretty absent minded. That’s my state lately. I've submerged myself in to work. I barely sleep. There is no sleep for the wicked. I keep waking up in cold sweat like I did two years ago. The pills help me control my moods but I have made a blessed mistake by missing one…

Most of the day was a blur just like old times. This day I woke up and went to work. Did my job but my mind was somewhere else. I can’t remember where… It was a dark place. I remember going on my cigarette breaks. I'm not sure if I even ate. I remember the end of it though. Still blurry but I remember it. I was walking the streets. The pace in this city is so fast. People don’t really look you in the eye much. They pass on politely, going on about with their business. The cars passing us by too. Their lights looking like neon stripes.

I saw a boy cry that day. Cry desperately. This boy was about 17. He was crying so painfully. Like the animal in my dreams. Like me two years ago. The cry of an innocent soul. I do remember that. How it feels… I remember my black eyes. Lying in bed after days of no sleep. Sitting up and then it goes. The memories. The pounding of the heart in my chest. No oxygen. I try to gasp for more but it seems like my lungs can’t catch any of it. Everything gets hot, but there is nothing that you can do. Everything, every emotion you have ever felt rushes through you and you feel like you’re going to vomit. I feel a lump in my throat and all I can say to myself is “don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry!”. I slap myself across the face trying to stir it all away with pain. It doesn't work. I stand up and look around. I don’t know why. I guess I was just looking for something to save me. Nothing comes…

I start pacing back and forth in my room, trying to catch my breath, trying to get a hold on myself. Nothing works. I storm out of there and go to the shower, fully dressed, I open up the cold water and wait for it to pass. It seemed like hours that I stood there, still not able to breath. It still doesn't work. I got out and went back to my room. I stood there in the middle, leaking a puddle of water to the floor, still trying to breath.

I wanted to rationalize it, Isaacs… Why is this happening to me? Usually panic attacks are different and they pass… This one was not letting go… It felt so different than the others. “it’s just in your head. It will pass. It will pass, I promise”. But it doesn't, so I go to the kitchen and grab a knife. It’s taken away from me. I keep crying. I stand there, soaking wet, rubbing my eyes and crying. It keeps getting worse. I black out. I found myself lying in bed for the next week. No food, no water. I think I've slept through all of it…

These memories are not that bad, Isaacs. It happened so long ago and they don’t affect me like they used to. But that day… something happened. I passed that church I love so much. I remembered France. I remembered Notre Dame. The gargoyles! Oh how I wish I could be one, Isaacs! They’re magnificent creatures, they are. Sitting on the top of the clock tower, watching the world from above. I stood and stared. I could see myself climbing that tower, sitting on the roof of it and breathing fire from my mouth. I closed my eyes for just one moment and saw myself looking at the world from that top. I'd sit on the edge watching people passing by. I could see myself. I was looking at myself standing on that corner, gazing at that church, every morning on my way to work. And one day I would come down, stand as that giant marble creature in front of the dead cage I have become, and tell myself “you can do better”.

I have no idea what have made her die that day, Isaacs. Or what caused me to have that... fit. I know it was a trigger to something hidden deeper in me. Something that I did my best to forget. I used to be able to look at the stars and tell you exactly why this world is beautiful. I alway knew that there is so much pain in the world. Today, I just don't know how to not notice it.. The only way I think I will ever be able to figure it out is to become her again, Isaacs. For as she said; I could do better.

I Don't Know About You But...

For me it works like this... 

You meet someone and for some inexplicable reason you can't stop thinking about her. Not because she's nice or funny or beautiful, But because every time you touched her hand, you felt some sort of electricity going through your body. She makes this connection between you and this universe. Makes you feel that every molecule in your body is attracted to everything in this world. 

You see, love is not self centered like people let it seem. for me it is simple. Every time I love, I just love. I don't ask why or how. All this is, the questioning,  is just relationship bullshit. I love because I do. Because I can. Because when she smiles I feel the sun shinning up my life and nothing around me can brake my spirit. But if she cries I brake. I get mad. Because I need to fix and change all that is making her feel this way. 

I need her to be ok. To exist. Just to be. So I would know that she is. Maybe not with me. I might not be the one kissing her goodnight, Telling her that all is fine and will be even better. But I need to make sure that someone is. I worry for her. With every breath I take. Because someone needs to. And I want to. 

It might seem stupid to have such a feeling, for someone that doesn't even know I exist. But it is not so. She might be worth it, She might not. She might be the greatest person that this world has ever seen. Or she might just be a total cunt. For me it really does not matter. Because seeing her might break every piece of heart I have left. But every moment without her is even worse. I will look out for her even if she will never know. Even if she will never know I love her. Even if she might not want me. 

But if she does I will promise. I promise you right now. I will never make you cry. If I do, I will spend every waking moment trying to make it up for you. I will make all your dreams come true. Even if it means putting mine on hold. I will love you forever. As long as we bothe breathe, my heart will skip a beat every time you will walk into a room. My mind will never be at ease. My love will center us and lift us up to fly in peace. I will hold and never let you fall and never ask for anything you cannot give. I will love you as long as you will let me. 

I am here. Wating for you to come. Waiting for you to tell me that you were searching too. That you have loved me all this time. To hate me that it took me so long to find you. To yell at me that you were wondering what was so importent for me to do all my life instead of just being with you. Loving you. And I will tell you, that I loved you all my life. That I was born for this moment. And all my life was leading me to this. To you. I love you.

Emotional ADHD

Dearest Stace,

I came across a small piece of me. I'd like to share it with you because you're the exception; because you taught me to be the exception. This post is for all people with emotional  ADHD.

---Sometime around the January of 2010---

Are you an artist?

We like to think of ourselves as artists. When we were small, every pretty thing we created was dotted upon. Every slight hint of a talent magnified and reproduced. You were told you are wonderful; an artist only waiting to be discovered; an artistic soul lacking only a paintbrush. Society teaches there is an artist in everyone – well – there isn't.

In all likelihood you are neither an artist nor will you ever be one; Artists are rare. Do you paint for a living, dance as a passion, play the piano? Do you recurrently try to create something new, only to barely scrape pretty again and again. Maybe you are good – your friends and family encourage you, you might even make a modest living from selling mild beauty to people with empty lives and a confused estetic.

 You really would like to be an artist – a passionate soul on fire, in constant misery failing to survive in harsh surrounding of colorless people failing to see your inner self. Well, that just ain`t true. You like your solid lifestyle, you're put together, you want children and a garden. If you knew what being an artist, would you like to be? Really?

The other day I shared a moment with an artist. She snored. My god did she snore – you would not believe a human being can make so much noise so consistently changing over such a long time. You might think this is obnoxious – but it was actually rather endearing, made sense - sort of fitted into the chaotic picture.

Her living space is a bloody mess. It isn't messy at all, it is beautiful. You climb up a rattley staircase to a long rectangular room, 3 different heaters are working. An assortment of paintings attempt desperately to make their way to the front, while hypes of "stuff" wrestle to the top in an attempt to cover them.  Thousands of articles of clothing are lying around in disarray, forming knee high mounds, bras and pants and socks hang from Christmas lights across the room. Cups, paints, makeup, half empty bottles, key chains and one especially creepy elf share a surprisingly small space in skin deep peace. She has a sheet, but it is rolled up in the corner of a cushy stained mattress, blatantly ignored. That is with company.

She paints herself every day – not always pretty, sometimes not as pretty as she would be without it - but such paintings. It all comes together, the clothes and the attitude and the bright bubble gum pink lips – never the same, yet always so… Then she goes and paints the world, because she's an artist, she kind of has too. Her paintings aren’t always pretty; life ain't always pretty – no, her paintings are real. Alive.

And yeah, she snores like a troll with bronchitis. Nothing about her is perfect. She smells of bananas and chocolate syrup, in a way that is annoying yet cute, and she sleeps on a stained mattress, and she paints herself, and she lives 5000 miles away from home painting life.

Emotional ADHD. She has emotional ADHD. She looks into you so piercingly, so very deep into you. Her eyes are so very powerful, so very very brown. You get the feeling you are the only thing alive, the only thing that ever existed, that ever could exist. You are the only pretty creation of god on earth, and nothing is of interest but you, everything you say is funny, everything you do is inspirational. You may think we are in love. I must confess we are not. We never will be, she barely likes me and doesn't have place in her heart for anyone, let alone me. I, myself, can barely sustain or stand her for one night. No, I must admit this is simply the way she engages the world – everything is entrancing, everyone is fascinating. I only happen to be there.

You see, artists – real ones; they're just too intense for us, too engaging, too fast too love and too fast to stop loving, to impervious to the world, and yet too hyper-alert to every little thing. She loves everything; she loves everyone – not in a cliché misanthropic way, in the most honest intense and freaky way.

Us?

We enter relationships. We need to know people love us no matter what. We go to university and get a job. We need things to stay the same and last forever. We need to know why we're happy.

She doesn't.

Are you up to that life?  

Dates

Don't date.

Apparently that's not romantic.

It's romantic to meet someone… speech some… wait forever… meetup in a location where her presence is tolerable… listen forever… eat something… do it all again at night… kiss because the moon is pretty… do it all again…  a little harder… it feels weird…  have sucky sex eventually because you kind of have too after you paid, very gallantly one might add, for 3 dinners and a movie… stay together… get a little better at sex – as in, learn how you can tolerate each other… complain about school and work and the government and grow into a gray mid-aged boring old sod.

Apparently that’s the epitome of romance; couply couples, with small cute gestures like post-its, presents and brunch to make life not so fucking boring you can't take it.

Well forgive me but I'll pass. I don't date. We don't date. We are the wild ones who roam the world and live under the moon and the sky. We're the wild ones who need to be swept away by the wind and burnt by the night. When we meet lust and love intertwined consumes the world, us angels of the night, burning from within, uncompromising, unaccepting. tolerating nothing.

 I'll stay with a girl; I'll stay with a girl for as long as she makes my blood boil and my mind crazy and my body ache. I'll stay with her if we meet and sparks fly and her eyes are so intense they can burn your skin with a glance and her touch makes the burn explode in blue and purple fire in the crimson of the blood pumping in your veins. I'll stay with her if she makes your mind roam wild and free and explore the world. I'll stay with her forever if she makes me better and more alive and intense, but only as long as she does.

But by god I ain't gonna date her. Dates is when you set the scene to compromise, by definition, before the need to compromise has ever even arisen.

Does that really make us not romantic?