Tag Archives: end

As I sit here

As I sit here I think of nothing else. Nothing else at all but the one, one and only  – or is it lonely? – thought. The thought, the thought, the thought like a plague that starts small and takes you to the grave. The grave of my soul, the grave of my heart, the grave of my life to end it all. End it all at once, but not my life, but not my soul, but not my heart, but that one lonely, only plague-like thought.

The thought of thoughts, the only one. But multiplying until there is none. None other, no others, not many and not few. An image and smile and then all it’s done. Done forever, done for never, done and done and done again. A cycle that never ends. A cycle, a cycle, a bicycle that goes and goes and never gets there.

A never ending story, a never ending cycle of cycles as it repeats and repeats but is never the same and always . . . always the end. The same end, a different story but along came a spider, a story? A cycle? Again and again I go. First, I was blind, then I was naive, and now with my eyes wide open and my heart cracked and broken. For what else can one thought do if it has already taken my heart and my soul? It has taken all, has taken me and myself and my oxidized heart, in pieces and stitched up.

Stitched up heart, a stitched up soul, a stitched up life. A life made up, a life created, a life lived and now pervaded by one little lonely thought, a life so full, a life so lost and a life yet found. Found a life, found a heart, found a smile and there it is. It is a lonely, little thought that kills me slowly and gives me life. The life of hopeless romantics which I am not. The life of  . . . of those I don’t want to be, the life, the life I don’t want to live.

And yet, I live, I live beyond this lonely thought. I live as if it does not exist and I push and push until is nearly gone. Forgotten it stays until the end of the day,

Advertisements

Anthony David

It seems I am at the end and the beginning, of what it is gone and what it is to come. 

For what may come, I can only dream it, wish it and either, wait for it or run to it. But it would be to run into nothingness.

My dreams come true, if only . . . A memory only or wishful thinking. Unrealistic, exactly, I know reality too well.

To be loved why does it seem that we are not to love ourselves too? To be loved why does it seem that we are to sacrifice our heart and soul?

To keep them, to keep myself then it is for me the endless death of ongoing existence. Or it could only be that I feel sad today and tomorrow he will be gone from my thoughts.

Gone forever, until I see him again or hear him, or maybe until I see a cat or hear the rain. I’ll  forget him until my next Sunday morning cup of coffee.

Or maybe tomorrow I’ll remember when I was hurt, or when I cried, or when I didn’t understand and this thoughts will push him out of my mind.

At the end and at the beginning as it is suppose to be. To make room for what it is to come some things need to be gone. 

Gone, but not gone, never or maybe always.

Y

I know I am to care, and I do.

I know I am to suffer, but I don’t.

I wait for the pain to come, I wait for the tears to flow, I wait for my soul to be tortured and my heart to be wretched but I feel nothing.

I feel nothing but the silence and the calmness that nothingness brings.

Nothingness and the care for someone who doesn’t care.

How can it be that if I care, I feel nothing?

I love you

She lays in the dark beside him, with her arm around him. I love you She doesn’t say it, it will freak him out. The change has already started and she knows the end is coming, this won’t last much longer . . . Maybe she should say it, what is there to loose? Only him She thinks, but she’s already loosing him and he never belonged to her in the first place. What a terrible thought . . . to belong.
And then it happens. Something so big, something so small. It breaks for everything and for nothing.
It’s just his excuse.

But she never said it and he will never know.

Without a start

I feel the change on you, I feel it now and I felt it then.
I feel the change in me too. The change . . . Different in me than in you, more dangerous in me than in you, more clear in me, to me.
I know where this change leads, I know where it will take me, but I don’t want to go there.
The path that leads me there goes through you, through you I want to go, with you I want to be, but where the path ends. . .
I know where it ends, it’s not an end it’s just a stop. A stop to the journey, but there is no journey since I agreed there wouldn’t be. Nonetheless I have traveled, but I remain in the same place, but I am not.
How it is that . . . ? There’s no journey, there’s no path just the end to it all.
Again and again what remains it’s the journey’s end. The end without a start, the end without a path, the end and nothing else but the end without a start.