Another Time, Another Place

 

I could have loved you,

but you didn’t see the magnitude of my request.

You were not able to feel the weight

pressed into every word

scribbled, on tear stained paper.

 

I would have loved you,

if, after careful consideration

you’d told me,

it was too much – I was too much.

You just couldn’t comprehend the change,

not just of lovers, but whole lives too.

Perhaps, being apprehensive, you were scared,

unsure of your feelings, where they lay,

and who with.

I could have loved you

for wanting time to contemplate.

 

I could have forgiven you,

of being unaware of loaded pressure,

for not sharing the burden

of the ticking bomb I held in the dark.

I would have forgiven you

for not understanding my clumsy plea.

Not seeing through the flimsy charade of subtext

that was so easily dismissed.

I accept this fault as my own

 

I would have loved you

with your words recanted.

After nights of indecision, 

If your voice had only offered emotion

rather than indifference.

I could have loved you.

Even after the painful walk home,

of shame, of sadness, of anger.

Devoid of affection,

or admission.

 

But when days and nights pass

into weeks, then months,

and eventually she leaves you

for another man, another baby.

If after all avenues have been scoured,

options weighed up,

and my offer of love is recalled

from the depths of its ashes.

When you want me to love you

and wonder where the fire has gone.

Remember

 

I could have loved you completely

Only the timing was wrong.

 

That First Hurdle

To begin again is always the hardest thing.

Facing that blank page is daunting; it screams out in its purity, gives rise to palpitations and forces us to consider our options for the first time in a long time. It’s easier to carry on the story, pick up where you left off last time. The knowledge that you can recap and maybe gain an idea that you were heading towards, so that you can carry on with this in mind. It’s easier and comforting, when you have your base characters and plot worked out you can somehow spring from this much smoother than beginning afresh. Whether this is because the carrying on from old stock just means you are merely filling or that it just makes you more secure: I’m unsure. Perhaps it’s the opposite and it’s the new beginning that is just too daunting. There is too much potential to fail, too much that could go wrong, and so, under the pressure of all ‘the could be’, we simply freeze.

IT’s just that initial burst, that first nudge, the one little but huge step to get us across the starting line, once this happens then we can easily adapt to the new scenario – yet sometimes it seems too hard to start.

 

*nudges

Finding the way

I realise that my latest writing has seemed a little on the darker side so I wanted to bump one up that shows I’m still in a hopeful mood really … mostly 😉

Crossing the threshold

You trespass, on the edge of my borders
Tiptoe through the barricades
And hover at the frame

After patting down the dirt
Covering your tracks
In fear of being discovered

I find you, alarmed
A hare, dazed in the headlights
Frozen, but for the consistent twitch

In the distance sirens wail out a warning
The gate gapes wide in the wind
Yet still we persist

In that moment existence is shattered
I welcome the oncoming storm.

In Shadow of the Sun

Sometimes I am struck by the sheer futility of it all

Crossing out days in the calendar as if they were nothing

Allowing the sands of time to slip away

Watching the rising and setting of the sun

Knowing that in each lost day drowns a moment

An imagined space in fate forfeited, passed over

 

Some days there is anger, a hope that it will soon be over

A growing sadness that encourages me to leave it all

To walk away and seize the moment

But the fear of uncertainty, of being left with nothing

To be naked to elements, left to dry in the sun

These thoughts restrain me, stop me running away

 

Instead I walk a precarious line; he’d rather look away

Never wanting to face that its over

Seeing us as youngsters, playing in the sun

Willing to deny the truth, trying to forget it all

Attempting to believe the agitation is nothing

Not allowing emotion, not for a moment.

 

But it’s true, we are here in this moment

I still haven’t given anything away

Even at this juncture, I offer nothing

Except silent acknowledgement it’s over

I can offer no comfort at all

For I am every evil under the sun

 

I contemplate this in bed, awaiting the rising of the sun

My mind a kinetoscope, replaying every moment

Squeezing life from every last memory, I drink them all

Chasing down fragments, not allowing any to slip away

Nailing down reason, trawling through thoughts over and over

Torturing feelings to confirm there is nothing

 

Nothing more to hold me, no person, no thing

Save the inexplicable guilt of hurting a mothers son

My head so thick and weary, as though harbouring a hangover

Could it be my courage finally gathers momentum?

I should vault the bandwagon straightaway

To hell with my wherewithal

 

Who cares if I have nothing, I’d be open to it all

Then when my life expires, they can talk of this moment

And extol, I didn’t let the sun settle and let myself slip away

Winds of change

Ever get those days when you feel on the very edge of change and you fear somewhere deep inside that something unknown is about to snap and leave you blowing about in the wind. You get that little unsettling feeling in your stomach as it lurches towards the what ifs and the who knows, and the knowledge that you are not in the safe and secure place that you imagined yourself to be in.

Crossing the threshold

You trespass, on the edge of my borders
Tiptoe through the barricades
And hover at the frame

After patting down the dirt
Covering your tracks
In fear of being discovered

I find you, alarmed
A hare, dazed in the headlights
Frozen, but for the consistent twitch

In the distance sirens wail out a warning
The gate gapes wide in the wind
Yet still we persist

In that moment existence is shattered
I welcome the oncoming storm.

Familiar territory

The sun skims the dust

My eyes accustomed to this

And the empty space

Waiting for the evitable

If it were anyone but you,
I’d hold out hope
If it were anyone else,
I’d wait expectantly
Lingerie at the ready,
Lipstick still on

Instead I curl up in badly fitting pyjamas
Secure in the knowledge of your resolution

Every rose has its thorns

For every stone that breaks you

For every leaf that’s turned

For all the grass that’s greener

Another heart gets burned

 

SoCS – Real

For anyone not already heard of the Stream of conciousness Saturday: which is a prompt put out every Friday,  then check out Linda’s blog below

Linda G Hill

My stream this week was encouraged by a CampNaNoWriMo cabin sprint too, so double encouragement, thanks guys 🙂

 

Real

Get real!

Think about everything that you need to get real with today. Perhaps you need to change something in your life or at least be real about it to yourself. Sometimes we get so set in our ways that we lie or at least cover up the truths, even to ourselves.

I get why, I do it too. Sometimes it’s hard to examine our real thoughts and feelings, hard to accept that change is necessary…is inevitable, yet when it needs to be done then it’s hard, it’s scary even. We put so much effort into living out each day with the idea that if we just keep our heads above water, if we just keep moving along no matter how slow, then at some point it will all make sense, it will somehow feel real.

But it doesn’t.

Sometimes the light of day is like pouring boiling water over dusty cracks that we suddenly realise are there. Upon viewing these blemishes we realise that everything we thought was real and honest is now nothing more than a facade: a strangers face tacked on to our hidden desires. A covering for thoughts or feelings that reside deep within, that we don’t simply feel we can show to the real world. so instead we slip on a mask and wear it well, so others can’t see the real you. We might feel alone in this fake life created, yet we tell ourselves over and over that somehow this is better than the alternative. That somehow the monotonous existence of our being is the real world, is our real life, and that wanting, hoping for anything else is too presumptuous, too extravagant.

Do we really want the real us to surface?

To swim free and vulnerable out into the open. To allow ourselves to open up and release the inner beings of our souls into the real world, to allow ourselves to soar and swoop amongst the others. Do we really feel ready to allow reality to test us? Are we prepared for the onslaught of real experience to taint our fledgling emotions, to cast aspersions on our real self, to crush what little fragility we have left inside.

Are we ready for real life and all its brutality?

Let me thing about this, whilst I hide under my rock a while longer.