Category: Writers Block
Hey,
I wrote this whilst sitting in my room in hmm I don't know, I believe it was November and figured I'd share it with you all. If your easily offended by language and what not, I'd advise not reading, but if not, feel free. I can't figure out how to do line breaks, so if some one would please tell me, I'd be greatly appreciative.
Cortney
They like it when your right. When you're words have a hint of hate to them and they fit together with no pauses.
TO be perfect is to join in the crowd of pretty faces and speak in tongues known only to the "popular people." Giving over to the conformists with nothing but a nod and a slight jolt of your heart. You don't feel the weight of your subconscious, as it attempts to make heads and tails of your sudden jump. You just walk along and let you're mouth open and close like a fish thrown from the water.
The merest mention of your "old friends" causes you to double back and attempt to take stock of your situation. _Attempting_, how that word is used throughout this to express failure of regaining any sort of semblance in your screwed up life. Walking along blindly following the patterns of every day, not changing up for anyone.
The phone calls become far and few between, and the words, well forget about them, you don't even speak to your old crew anymore. The tears you cry at night are felt only to your pillow, and that best friend that you said you'd "never leave" still stands by.
Do you notice me though? Nah, 'course you don't, I just idly watch as you're life goes down hill, interjecting when I see fit, but you're head only nods, and your words tell me to stop. I stop, and yet walk beside you still. A shadow among your "people", a teardrop in the many you cry.
We grow older, and college calls my name, and those cute girls call yours. My eyes cautiously still watching you from afar, while you spiral, and bounce up again. "Ya worse then a damned whirlwind", I'd mumble in our hastily prearranged phone conversations. You know those, 'I'll call you, or...you call me', ones?
My eyes tearing up from the vagueness in your voice, and the cold callus way you'd view life. Knowing in the back of my mind I'd lost you, but me always trying and failing to get you back. Guess I should've tried harder.
That night was cold and damp, and I was walking back from the book store, and I saw you then. Your head low, your body shifty, you're profile blending in with the concrete of the wall you stood next to. That deep-rooted mechanical instinct pulled me to you, and the instant my hand found yours, I knew things had already ended indirectly. Your eyes had lost the glow they had so wonderfully contained six years ago when we'd sit up at night and talk, and promise each other things would never end, that we'd stay friends for ever. The palm of your hand was cold in my own, but I still held it, and I followed you.
We walked for ten or so minutes, you speaking not a word, you're eyes staying fixed upon the sidewalk between us. Eventually we stopped and I turned to you, my eyes fearing what they'd see. My fingers interlocked with your own, a familiar gesture to me, yet so vague to you.
"I fucked up, you know?", your words hitting me like a spotlight to the eyes. "You did, but I still love you>" It's all I could think to say as your hand slid into your jacket pocket, and lingered there. "No, I mean, I really did. I lost you, and that's why I fucked up." Your words coming out fast, mixing with the wind that swirled around our heads.
"You don't get it", you said, your voice thick with anger and frustration, and something I still can never put my finger on. ..."No, maybe I don't. It was all I could say; the echo of your words still reverberating throughout my brain.
"I'm not gonna' spell it out for you, hell you're smart enough to figure it out." The sound of your voice barely registering in my head. I was by now falling fast into that familiar routine of listening yet not comprehending.
The feeling of paper against my skin broke me from my reverie, and my hand opened, as you thrust the few sheets of paper into my hand. I looked up, and your eyes finally fixed upon my own.
"I don't ever expect you to understand girl, and I never want you too. Just know that if I wanted you to, you would, alright?" My mouth wouldn't open for anything, as your words spun throughout my head. ..."alright?" The words were sharp now, almost panicky.
"Yeah, okay, alright." "You promise?", you asked. "I promise", I mumbled, fingering the paper.
You were smart in your own way. The 45 Magnum was silenced as you placed it to your temple and pulled the trigger. You knew I didn't want to hear it, I know you did. I don't know how long I knelt beside your lifeless body, and held your cold hand between my numb fingers. I just remember crying and wishing to God I never would've promised you anything.
I slept with those sheets of white loose-leaf paper under my pillow for Lord knows how long. My mind rebelling against looking at the slanted writing you printed upon them, but knowing I had to eventually give over to temptation. The night was sticky and humid when I finally let my fingers search for the well-creased pieces of paper. Spreading them out on my desk, I sat and read.
I want your first and last thought of me to be happy. If I could turn back the hands of time and start over again I wouldn't. You out of everyone will know that I did what I had to do, no matter how cowardice and stupid it was. I always told you I wanted to leave this world "being remembered", not by anyone else but you. Suppose I'll end up screwing that up, who knows.
I know you won't read this until every things said and done, and even then you may never unfold these and actually read the words I'm writing, but one can try.
You always said you "loved" me. and until now I didn't understand why. Perhaps I still don't, and I just want to give myself justification for something only I can see. I never gave you enough, and I suppose that's why I feel so guilty...so dead. ...I should've tried harder and not let myself be sucked into the chaotic lifestyle of girls and blowing you off quicker then I can blink.
This world isn't worth living in. You won't understand and it's okay, because you'd listen if I had the guts to actually talk to you about this instead of writing it. You would...tell me you would?
I'm tired of chasing empty dreams and seeing you cry because I've decided to be the biggest idiot and let you go. No, don't contradict me, because I know you're trying too.
You know when your too tired to keep going, and you do anyway? I've reached that point, and no matter how many pills I take, or how many girls walk in and out of my life, it won't fix things anymore. I've surpassed all boundaries of any type of enjoyable life, and the tears aren't even worth crying anymore.
The bottle of Vikatan sits upon the table next to my notebook, and it's half empty, and I'm running on nothing but the urge for redemption, and you to understand. ...to know that it was never your fault, and I know I'm doing the worst job at conveying it, but it was and never will be. I've built broken dreams and have decided to let them burn as I fall deeper into a life that has zero meaning to it.
Your words are the only thing that bring me any sort of solace anymore. 'You'll always be my baby' How I resented that phrase, and now long for the merest hint of your voice.
I've written nothing to merit your forgiveness, yet I know you'll still be here, even when I'm SIX FEET UNDER. I love you for that, and for everything you were and will be.
Cort, I'm so glad you shared this, it's awesome as I told you before. thank you.
THAT IS BRILLIANT! you should try to get it published somehow..
"They like it when you're right. When your words have a hint of hate to them and they fit together with no pauses."
That, is just a really powerful, perfect line! Wow!
And the rest's pretty hard-hitting too. Gets ya right where your throat hurts and you blink a bit and go back to reread... Awesome stuff!
By the way, line breaks are
< b r >
with the spaces removed.
amazing