5:56 AMC
"Worms of the Earth" - Finch

To Me & The Left.

What can I possibly tell you that you haven't already heard before? Things will get better? You'll come to accept it as a part of normal life? "He's in a better place. He doesn't suffer anymore." You just keep repeating that to yourself until your mind eventually melts away into an empty shell. There's nothing there. Nothing left to think. Just reminders. Oh, this is what his hair looked like when he combed it this way. This is what his skin smelled like when he came in from the sunshine. This is how his hands felt when he warmed them for me on cold days. You try with all your might to fold yourself into the tiniest form, stretching and bending into the smallest awkward positions until your muscles ache with the over exertion of trying to hold yourself together. Your head is pounding, tired and tired and tired. Your cheeks never stop feeling wet and you think absently "how long can I keep this up before I dehydrate myself?" It almost feels like forever.

They knock, they pat your back, they tell you it's okay, "Things will get better." Hugs and hugs. As if they could make it all go away. If it were that easy I wouldn't bother with these antics. So everyday you wake up and the same listless routine continues. Days feel longer then they should because you don't see his usual smile. You don't see those tiny gestures that reminds you that he's there. The blade next to the sink. The boots in the corner with the watch inside ticking away as a reminder. The smell of warm musk in the air. Every insignificant little gesture means more now than ever. You drag your feet and continue your same human needs and tasks as if your body weighted tons. Like the entire sky was lower than it should be and crashed specifically on your shoulders. There's no waking up without that feeling. You don't know it's morning without the weight. Slowly but surely the day drags on.

Come nightfall you smash your face into the pillows that smell exactly like him and try with all your might to smother yourself. Smother and smother. And just when you feel that last aching pulse of air threaten to stop you hear yourself scream. It always sounds louder in here than out there. And just like that you snap open your eyes to the shadow and folds of the fabric. You inhale deeply that same warm sunshiney scent and remind yourself again, well, things will get better.

In the end, the scents fade, the textures in touch wipe away, the unique timbre of his voice seems farther than you remembered. It gets harder to focus on it without the constant presence. All you have left is your cloudy memories of what was once there and after a few months you surprise yourself because you're not fighting to hold yourself together anymore. You don't crouch yourself into a dark nothing and you don't smother yourself in pillows. The absence is there, you feel it, you do, but this time not as acutely as before. Now you feel a bigger one.

It gets hard to believe that a loving and caring and all knowing being could be cruel enough to make you love so devotedly only to snatch it away and watch you crumble to dust beneath him. That someone who created everything, the air, the grass, the trees, your own heartbeat can be just so damn vengeful and cold. It gets hard to believe that a better place exist when there's so many inconsistancies in the meanings. There's no room for faith where you're going. There's you and that's it. And that's very damn hard.

My days have passed away, my thoughts are disappated, tormenting my heart.
They have turned night into day, and after darkness I hope for light again.
If I wait hell is my house, and I have made my bed in darkness.
I have said to rottenness: thou art my father; to worms: my mother and my sister.
Where is now my expectation, and who considerath my patience?
All that I have shall go down into the deepest pit:
thinkest thou that there at least I shall have rest?
- Job 17:11-16 DV.

Life: 05/06/09 | Posted By: blu moon | 0 comments