mon cœur est à lui

I can’t go on pretending anymore

What can I do ..

It’s been so long.

I haven’t littered my synapses of mindless rambling on this place for so long and it feels like so much has changed in 3 months since I’ve come back from China. That period used to be my lowest, but now it only serves as a shrine to the now and hereon.

Invisible webs spun by Ariadne clounded around the mindless beggers I saw all around me and as I walked amongst the thick, industrial fog there; I thought I could drown no deeper. Nausea engulfed me as I was encircled by people who knew of roses and chocolates, who were heavy-handed as they paid in Gucci, Dior and Hermes.. people who were beautiful - but not with angelic faces nor grace, nor gentleness. The beauty was excruciating to look at - even ominous at times, as if to remind me that someday I’ll take one wrong step and fall into the labyrinth that knows no satisfied ending like Midas himself. Those were the days when I would wake up feeling infinitesimmally small and glass-like. The days when the same routine would leave me distilled with a pungent dreading for the next day ahead. Even the taste of the yoghurt sickened me with it’s artificial acidity.

[It’s not so bad] I’d tell myself. Put that conjunction of syllables on repeat as people humoured you, stripped you of your humanity, emotions and clothing. Add in another line [You’ll get through this] as their laughter shrilled like the ascending tapping of fine silver and jade whilst layers and layers of you came off.

And yet I would find happiness. Joy and possibly a non-drug incited euphoric high every single day. During those nights of intellectual domination over one another, arguing over Herman Hesse, the cosmological argument - whilst you had my heart racing as you described what determinism meant for you. Those times when we would scorn at impoverished souls with nothing but money, and those with the chilling iciness in their hearts to rob the former of their Bentleys and Louis Vuittons. Back when you tested my grasp of Marxist ideologies as I taunted you with the verses of Dante. Yet now, it is silent. So silent.

I sit here wondering what it is that kept me going whilst I was there. There that is now but a memory, but haunts me with it’s pervasive coldness and magic shows of sawing through people’s minds - each side desperately fighting for control. You were the antithesis of all that though. You lived in a world (my world) so filled with insurmountable freedom in comparison. Maybe that’s why I held on. Why I dreamt of smoothing out the creases formed whenever you furrowed your eyebrows in concentration or worry. But the reality is never so simple. As we sat by the harbour for the last time I tried so hard to enact those subconscious desires; fingers sliding across your brow bones fervently but to no avail as the lines set again once I lifted my hands. Like waves beating against a beach cliff, as soon as it dries; another high tide will come.

Perhaps that was when I realized that the incomprehensible connection that we once shared between us had become nothing more than demonstations of awkward intimacy catalogued by our shift into a drama cliche. You had changed. Or maybe you never did. Maybe I just never knew you. Or I had never seen enough of you till then. Disappointment is a fleeting robin, so easily interrupted by the pounding serenity that reminds me of the space between us now. I’ve grown weary of what we lack. Stillness, acceptance, maybe even love? All we had was honesty, and even that was crumbling as you were swept away by dreams of tyranny. I tell myself that I should find solace in knowing that I set myself up for this jump, knowing that I’d fall (hard, fast and irreversibly) to break every bone in my self, fracturing even the tiniest of metatarsels and phalanges. But I am comforted by that knowledge. That I chose it myself.

My mind is a compedium of thoughts in the present. Friends fill up the majority of that chart. Where and how have I gone so terribly wrong? My thoughts linger on the embrodiery slowly being sewed in my memory. Which path did I mistake? What words did I mispeak? Was it just a moment encapsulated in her memory and not mine where my expressions did not content her? I want badly to be angry. Throw a few chairs and delete these inconsolable fiends of acquaintances off every network, both online and in real life I am associated with. Cut the wires to the circuit completely. But I cannot. Nostalgia fills me up as I continue to press rewind on the same song. The first time we met, laughed together, drank copious and foolish amounts of foul-tasting alcohol together.. those pieces mattered to me and still do. And I’ve tried, goodness knows I have. Worked for every glance she gives me out of courtesy or spite. Slit apart my ribcage and shown her frankness and sincerity I didn’t know myself capable of. In the past few weeks, how much of me was myself and how much was moulded from her every look and word; I wouldn’t know.

I should tie up the loose ends… this post is becoming morbidly long. There are too many scattered pieces from the broken glasses, each chunk glistening with waterdrops from what it once held along with the flowers that he once gave me. But these waterdrops only emphasize just how sharp each piece really is. And when your hearts in so many pieces, which one do you pick up first?