My Fallen

My brother,

This is a letter that I want you to see. Once upon a time the Wild Child told me I should write this letter to her. To My Fallen. The one and only person I have ever truly loved. Sadly I did so just recently and as you can understand I was a few years late. You knew her just briefly but we both had to witness her die. So she will never see it, but I hope part of her will, somehow. This is the last love letter I will ever write. A letter to the undead, sort of speak:

15/10/2012

Today is a day of pain and sorrow. Two years of it. And ever since, nothing has been the same. 

Forgive me for my scattered words, my love. I write to you today, because you are no longer here. 

And no one else knows. I miss you, with every sunrise that I witness I miss you more. 

I wish you were here, so you would hold me up like you always did. Loved me, been my friend, my lover, my confidante. The one who taught me how to live. How to see all this beauty that has fallen away with you. 

You knew my all and kept my pieces together. I still cannot believe that you are gone. That you have left my soul in a wreck of bones, to wake with this unbearable and paralysing pain. How I miss you. 

No one knows how I miss you. How nothing is the same. How I can’t bear to hear your name spoken. 

Not even whispered. Yet no one else mourns for you. No one else notices that you are no longer here. Somewhere, out there, walks a shadow of what you once were while the memory of you yourself fades away. But not for me, I will carry your scares on my skin till the day I die. I grieve for you. I miss you. 

Every day. With every breath. With every beat of my heart, something has fallen missing for these past two years. Today, two years ago, you have died. And not a single thing will ever be the same. I miss you. 

But now I must say goodbye. I know I will never be half of the person that you were. But I must live. 

For myself! And stop following your ghost where ever it goes. The hole you left in my chest will forever be an empty space without you. But I hope, I still hope, that something would come and fill this void. 

I hope you can forgive me. I have tried to keep my promise. But to try to find what once was and now is gone, is just impossible. We died that day together and my soul is now a new one. 

So I must live a life that is new. I am not saying that I will forget you. But I want to try. 

To stop comparing to how it could have been if you weren't taken away from me. 

Please forgive me. I love you, my fallen. Fare thee well.

Boxes

They really want you in a Box. Labeled and tagged and ready to be shipped in 24 hours if possible. 

Why? Why do you have to label us? Put us in a box with a hundred others so that you can deal with us? If we can fit in a small compartment in the back of your small dark mind with a label than we're ok, than you are willing to live with us? 

Why? Why do we have to be smart or stupid or average? Humanitarian or realistic? One of about 3000 shades of religion in no-god-Jewishdom alone. You have to be gay, or straight, or bisexual, or transsexual or asexual; but then some people have a more complicated sexual orientation so are you pink or active or passive or progressive-cross-diagnostic-with-an-out-door-fetish. Why does everything have to be good or bad? Every act is either virtues or petty. Everything has to be evaluated calculated and judged - People, acts, beliefs. You look at how we dress, you look at what we say, and you look at what we do. It's like there's a constant court proceeding in the mind of every fucking one of you all the time. 50 shades of gray? there aren't no shades of gray, just big words that make people small. 
  Is it so hard to just accept that it's complicated? Not an I-don't-feel-like-explaining "It's complicated", rather a simple understanding that we just don't fit in a box. We change and reformulate and exist in parallel realities. I can say a sentence that is the complete truth and yet a total lie and it is. I can shift my personality and remain true to myself, I can lie truthfully, I can say the truth deceitfully. It's complicated. 

The worst part is I do it myself, sometimes. I'm guilty of the sin, I'm the worst of them all - box em, tag em and forget about them. But I try. Your little piece of paper I will cherish forever, It has moved me so much, you couldn't believe.

I don't often give promises. There is only a point in making a promise if there is a realistic chance you will break the promise (I promise the sun will rise tomorrow...so fucking what, dumbass). But I want to give you this - I promise never to put you in a box. I promise that even if you fit exactly, even if every dark stereotype places you in a box with a big label, even if I really need to control and compartmentalize my thoughts - even then I promise never to put you in a box.

I promise to always let your spirit roam free, see everything for what it is, no more, no less, not good not bad; just react to the world. It's not much, but I can promise that to you.  

Patience

No, stop. Just wait one second. I want to give you something.

You see... Inside my chest lives a little demon. He lives in a cage. A long time ago this demon was a beautiful, magnificent angel. Full of love, good and virtue. But one day he got shot in the heart. His love turned into anger, good turned into spite and virtue turned into sin. But this demon still has good in him. He still has that beautiful grace that made him what he once was.

When I feel like this... This anger and confusion... I am just at loss of words. It's like one of my fibro-fogs. I wouldn't be surprised if I found myself having a cigarette downstairs, not knowing how I got there, leaving these words unfinished. I just can't hear the demon. It's like he's yelling what I should say, but I keep catching his blurred, incomprehensible, fifth or fourth echo. He's hitting the metal bars with his metal cup, screaming like a mental patient. I open my mouth, and yet the moment I do, nothing comes out and my mind goes blank.

I want to tell you that I am not a self centered bastard. I do not enjoy feeling sorry for myself and wallow in self pity. I am simply mourning. I am mourning for events that have happened beyond my control. Things I couldn't have stopped in any way. Silly things you might think. And yet they are the things that hurt me most. I give myself pity, because we both know no one else would. I wallow so I could feel sad. Then I get up and fight.

So I'm writing this to you here. On this piece of paper. The only place where my concentration graces me with its presence. Telling you how I feel and divulging my deepest, darkest secrets. I wanted to give you this paper. Put it in your hand. Inside of it you will find my body, heart and soul. Yes, the body is a little damaged from self abuse. Yes, the heart is broken. And yes, the soul is nowhere to be found.

But I know that if you could spare some patience. If you could give out some love. Maybe my heart would heal. And maybe my soul would come back to love my heart again. And maybe my demon would grow to be the angel it once was and give this world a taste of his grace again.

I give you this piece of paper because I have nothing else. And I do hope it would be enough. At least for now.

You and I

The Waves

Brother,

It has been far too long since our days in the sun. You recall me fondly but incorrectly. I might have been a pond or a lake, or even a river. But I was never an ocean. My waves rage within my chest till today to no end and no avail. The ocean IS a dangerous place. It ricks havoc wherever it turns. And my heart?
It awaits the day my soul will allow it to release these demons. I want the anger out. It has been years since my shadow has been seen. What do you say to the drowning children? Do you apologise? Say that you are not strong enough to contain it?

No! I refuse to apologise any longer! There is a limit to an act of kindness! As you see, I have changed. There is too much energy within me. There is no more peace. If there is a blame to be placed upon the ocean, than there is a crime to be placed as well. And if the ocean is to be deemed dangerous than it is to rise to the occasion!

Prudence be damned! I shall have it no longer! You are right! I need you to hate me too!
To scream my name in such hate, it will tear you limb from limb! To blame me for every thorn you step on! To brake down and ask for mercy! For salvation and redemption! This is our war! The war of the extinct! We walk high and proud, bearing our scars. We walk tall from this day, till the day we die.

And if the children sink? Let them, for they are weak.

Greatness

My dear restless tormented soul,

would you rather be a muddy puddle, or a deep blue lake?

The lake is deep, broad and blue; it allows life to form, sustains life inside and out. The puddle is a place to splash your feet and get dirty; an annoyance that will wither away to a coat of thick mud when the sun shines.

But what if you were a child who cannot swim? For a child the puddle is the greatest of all playing grounds – he will stomp and jump and laugh; get messy and muddy and wet. The lake? To a child the lake is a danger – a place where one can die, a place that holds dark secrets at the bottom of an abyss.  

It is common wisdom that crying in movies is a folly girlish thing. It's just so sad that this is how we think; it's sad to NOT cry in movies. It is so easy to stroll past life ignoring it. It's so easy to live without being alive, watch without seeing, notice without feeling. It's so easy that most of the time most of us are like that. We do it so much – Barricade ourselves from the world, turn off the details, turn off the little dots of light and big patches of dark. We walk blindly, we ignore, we don't cry in the movies.

I believe you would rather be a lake than a puddle. But, say no one could swim. Say everyone was a toddler who may drown in the lake, would you still rather be a lake than a puddle? Vice and virtue mix in respect to cultures and the people about you; what is to the great swimmer a virtue is to the toddlers a vice.  

And you – you're no lake. You’re a fucking ocean, an ocean in a monsoon. A force of nature so out-of-their-league they've never considered you. So, when they come and say they will drown, would you rather be a puddle, would you wish everyone can come in, get a little dirty and have you forgotten with the first sunny day? They run away not because you are evil or not good enough, they run away because you’re an ocean and they will drown. Being too much sucks, but being nothing, well, being nothing is nothing. Wait just a bit, there are more out there. They are there.

Intimacy?

My Dear Brother,

I was stuffing my aching cavity with clove leaves this morning. It was aching for days now. I was looking in the mirror and my thoughts went back to the day my Wild Child had an operation to have her wisdom tooth remove. I remembered how I wiped tears and blood and spit off of her swollen face. I remember holding her all night while she cried in pain. Not an unusual event these past days. She cried herself to sleep every night, for one reason or another. All her days seemed to be filled with pain. This one just happened to be a physical one. She didn't manage to fall asleep for a long time. The pain just wouldn't go away. I got up and got dressed at 3 am to go out and find her some pain killers. Took me about an hour and a half to find an open pharmacy and get her some Advil. On my way back I stopped at the 7/11 and got her some soy coco drinks. She did love those… When I came back she was still bleeding and crying and she looked like a lost child. I gave her the pills and she swallowed them with the soy drink and she seemed so pleased.

Not only because of the relief, but for me. For having me in her life. Someone who loves her that much that they gave up all the precious moments of sleep, while work was a measly two hours away, just to make sure her slumber goes unconflicted. I think the word is “grateful”. I think she was grateful for having me there. A person who would give her everything. I can’t remember how it is to feel that safe. I never felt that safe with anyone. That intensity of intimacy. I think I might have had that as a child. But I will be honest, I fail to recall such an event…

I think the highest amount of intimacy that is possible to experience would be a visit to the dentist. Where you are pumped with drugs and your mouth gets butchered to no end. You have no idea what you are saying and you will not remember it later on. Your face gets swollen beyond recognition and with all honesty, you just look the worst you ever will. A person that will come to support you when you’re in such a horrid state of fear. I guess it’s wanting someone to be there for you when you want to... No, need to, wallow in self-pity without feeling guilty about it. Feeling allowed to be down. To be weak.

I don’t remember being weak either. I guess the perfection I have tried to build in my character is flawed. I do not know how to allow myself to feel these things. My experience taught me that it is not prudent to do that. Show the people around you that under your skin, you are flesh and blood. That your heart beats and your lungs pump air. And that you are not that special. I started feeling like a balloon. Big and strong, a magnificent balloon. But if you are to puncture my skin, everything inside me will dissolve into molecules and my skin will be blown away. I envy her. She got to know the Fallen when I have missed her every time she was around.

My dearest brother, today I have woken to dreams of the past. It might have been the future… I dreamt of Blue Eyes. She was happy and she was singing. And I was envious. I was envious because I was not. I miss the bliss of ignorance. I miss the wine and the picnics and senseless love in the sun. Where has summer gone to? We used to be such strong winds, you and I…

Passion

I don't think you get it. I'm not sure you ever did. 

I don't want to explain. I don't want to show you I never cheated on you, never betrayed you, never did anything to harm you and never would.  I don't want you to know that all the shit that happened was just life being an arse, forces of nature that were never in my command. I don't want you to know that I still love you and always will, that all the shit that happened was never my fault. I don't want you to know you still mean the world as no one else will. All these things are true, but I don't want you to know them.  

Nope, I want you to think I'm a prick. I want you to think that I'm a self-centred son-of-a-bitch who wronged you in every corner and robbed you of every dignity you had. I want you to think of me as the guy who dragged you into the abyss - robed you of your sanity, your personality, your health. I want you to hate me so much you awake in the middle of the night, with eyes burning red and amber, screaming into the night for life to just stop because it hurts so much. Hate me with a passion so strong no one has ever hated so much ever before.

When you hate me that much - if you can still find it in your heart to love me - I want your love.

That is how I love you.