Do not come here to lament, it is not eulogy time. This is cause for celebration, poignant moments of her life.
Allow me to demonstrate why the need to weep has passed, maturity, acceptance, understanding, instead of mourning, she’d want us to leap, to dance.
To gain favour to her memories, spin! she was strong with her words, the values of her heart,
she speaks her mind, doesn’t allow thoughts to fester, knowing when and where they will grow, from an echoing room, negativity can depart.
Into the depths where we can explore, no reasons to judge nor deplore, she’d tell me to live life to the full, without her I’d be empty, that is a certainty, for sure.
Plutonian measures devastatingly linger in the gloom, take me back to that moment, that instance, when peace and love had already been, had grown, so pure.
Do not come here to lament, for she is here, with us, precious time, lovingly ours and forevermore will our tales remain intertwined.
Our love was a beautiful tragedy, we flourished from the taste of its existence, the way we reacted and acted was like that of a giggling pair of youths.
But we lacked maturity, good times could not only be the ones had, falling into his eyes, his hurt, what did it truly mean?
Listening to and sharing tales, the mutual opening up of old wounds, and while information was privileged, I sometimes felt ill-equipped to properly advise or comment.
The tragedy behind our wall of defensiveness against the world, our fortress of affection which was mean to enclose, protect, preserve our magic, only to be seen, admired, and envied at certain times by others when we decided to be on display,
the tragedy was that our perfect little bubble was our downfall, and a lacking of self-understanding on part of one or both – perhaps specifically one, perhaps it was me.
The absence of self-awareness, a reasoning and knowledge of what was required, what was necessary for the growth of the heart could cause a cacophony, reverberations to be felt and heard for many an eve.
Now truly seems the time to heal, I must attempt this; we must try our best to repair, cannot have one or the other disappear, a desire rise to vanish into thin air.
Lost connections, fallen by the wayside, the electricity which surged, now plundered of pride,
hypocrisy which seems to glimmer at the door, I wonder what was intended, and were the relationships meant to be more?
Tainted by disconnect, lacking in joinery and glue, once so potent, alienated – by choice? Is this the truth? Walking away, time to rebuild without dismay.
Sometimes stronger on your own, perched in a tower, the only being there to recognise your humble throne, you are strong, despite it all, you can achieve comfort, consideration, quietly, Queen, you know, your silent goals.
Strenuous may be the thought processes where you dance with indecisiveness, but know you are the maker of your own fate, don’t forget your heart, little lady, for it may become too late.
Press forth,
her gesture whispered,
you can do it,
reach that realm.
Her hand gently pressing the
small of my back,
encouragement to reach that certain angel.
An angel who would heal me,
remove from me all
the pain and
suffering
that I was feeling,
brought upon me by a being
so nasty and calculated,
I don’t know why or how I loved him.
With him I felt the drag,
with her I was allowed to
be myself,
I could stay awake until three,
write, draw pictures, sing, dance,
do anything.
Feverishly I wrote and wrote,
wrote and posted,
in my crumbling state of
heightened illness,
I made sure I was heard by my world.
These people, I did not know
who I had reached,
whether I was well received
or even understood.
But the numbers didn’t matter,
it was the act of self-expression,
to be prolific in my work
was very important.
It was most important
that the ideas were expelled from me
like endless buzzes from a
curious yet insidious bee
turned rogue wasp,
I wanted to be belligerent in my exposes,
to a certain degree.
Because some needed to be spoken of,
others needed to be hidden and taken care of,
but I most needed healing –
purging was my means of achieving this.
Meditation also called to me,
I practiced it religiously,
sometimes thrice daily.
And once I removed the
sin from my system,
forced upon me via devilish means,
I felt a sense of tearing,
a breakage within,
I wept and wept as though
a staining upon my soul
had been removed.
I healed in her presence
but I still longed for the perpetrator,
in both my mind and reality
he was the culprit
but of my heart,
somehow he would be my saviour.
Part II: The Cost
He came into my life,
she came into yours,
jealousy seemed to rear its ugly head.
We had always had each other,
but now we had lovers to occupy our
hearts and time,
less and less did we see each other,
and when we did,
mostly talk did we of our others in our lives.
Becoming tamer and more domesticated
we calmed in times of love and lust,
another’s hand to hold and to accept us
for who we really were in life.
They seemed to be more
than our friendship could provide,
but these unions came at a certain cost.
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