Douleurs

(d’esprit)

She laughed, and I noticed for the first time that her right front tooth was slightly chapped at the middle. It was too small that you had to look hard to see it, and maybe that was why I was just noticing it even after all the staring I’ve been doing on her face.

“How did this happen?” I asked, pointing at my front teeth, and immediately regretting it. Her smile fell, and she closed her mouth shut. It felt and looked as if she’d been practicing being asked about that her entire life.

“Uh… I was chewing at a pen’s tip in fourth grade, but I never really talked about it before, you see. I thought it would just wear away with time but, it never did. Funny huh?” she paused. “How… did you notice?”

I couldn’t help but see how as she talked, she was trying hard to keep her lips close together and hide her teeth, and I felt like absolute shit.

“I just did… I guess I never did before because your smile was so pretty.” I stated awkwardly. By the end of the sentence, I felt as smooth as chunky peanut butter on an oat biscuit.

“Was? hm.” She looked at me and raised an eyebrow friskily. She opened her mouth again to say something but this time, a flock of seagulls coming from the distance stole her attention, along with my chance to ask her if we could move away from the sun’s scorching embrace.

She stared at them as they moved over the sea, and I just stood there next to her, feeling the sun as it made my head hotter and hotter by the minute but refraining from talking because I didn’t want to interrupt her sudden trance.

Suddenly, she turned to face me. She stared at my face with a broad smile without saying anything and for a moment, she was starting to creep me out.

I was about to ask what she was doing when she just moved backwards and extended her arm, pointing her thumb at my face with one eye closed.

“What… are you doing?”

She grinned mischievously before putting her arm down, and responded confidently, “I am measuring the angular size of the moon.”

~♦~

It makes me really sad how my favorite sounds, the ones I can feel for the most, do not speak human. The’re of languages that are impossible to be written down, and I don’t like that I don’t have a way to keep them with me for a long time.

My heart claims that it can keep them. But, I own a lying heart, or at least one that doesn’t know itself that well. Neither of us can really know what’s real and what’s not.

And you know, even if it can keep them, I wouldn’t trust it to do so for a very long time. It makes me really sad how forgetful my heart is, and how it tends to love countless things all at once. It drains me.

It’s been a week, and I don’t feel real any more.

I feel blessed that I’ve had the opportunity to see and feel things that are not real, but sometimes putting my feelings into words and images isn’t enough, and sometimes it’s not even possible to begin with.

Most of the time, actually, it feels like I’m ruining and deforming everything by mixing them up. I know that words are not feelings, and that feelings are not sounds, and that sounds are certainly not colors.

On another note, I really miss getting the chance to see life happening.

I miss feeling things on seeing certain people or hearing their voices. I miss even the ones I never have and might never really meet.

I want to talk about them and their stories, the small things I see and hear when no one’s looking or listening, and sometimes when no one’s even there but me, but I’m not sure if anyone would like to hear them. I think they’re worth being heard, though, so I might just spill them here bit by bit whenever I feel like it.

Among many other things, I’ve felt like the ghost in the corner, the huge pile of ink and papers, the grey box that stares out of the window for three hours at the same things every day… but most importantly, I felt like I was one of the people a handful of times, and that feeling was something that came with seeing the world as an okay place to be.

The few hours I could spend outside of my cocoon were the only hours during which I’ve ever felt real, and for that I am very grateful.

I miss being able to do things that aren’t thinking, and I miss not having to spend so much time with the mean, cold wind.

●︎-●︎-●︎-●︎-●︎-●︎-●︎

Grá

The sun was much bigger and brighter than the moon. This was a hopeless case, really. How could such a lifeless piece of rock ever compare to the brightest star it could see in the entire vastness of space?

The moon also could never let itself forget that it was not at all alight. Everyone knew that none of the light really belonged to it, and that made it insecure.

-☀-

The sun’s shine was not as peaceful as the moon’s. No one could ever look at it for enough time because its blinding brightness was just too much. Its existence was definitely not quiet, nor could it ever go by unnoticed by any of the other planets or fellow stars.

The sun felt like it took up too much space, and absolutely hated being seen and yet, could still do nothing to even dim its light a little bit, for the pressure exploding from inside was killing its every hope of doing so, at least for now. The sun was constantly alight. All of the light belonged to it, and that made it insecure.

-♦-

The moon did know how small and invisible it was to the sun, being one of the too many bodies that were hundreds of thousands of times smaller.

Sadness was a thing the moon felt every time that time of the month came, the couple of days when it could turn its face away from the earth and see the sun, and shine, even if fraudlently.

After all, it was just an extremely tiny thing that’s associated with one of the most mediocre of the planets oribting the majestic star. The moon knew that there was no hope for it to ever be seen.

-☀-

The truth is that, the sun could see the moon. It could see everyone all the time because it was the biggest of them all, getting the prevelige of just looking down and watching the magic caused by its gravity happen. It wished and hoped, but that wasn’t going to do anything, and the sun knew.

The sun was sad that the moon has chosen to orbit another, smaller sphere other than itself. Not that the sun was conceited or anything, but it was a good reason to be pissed that the most beautiful of all the orbs didn’t choose it, while all the others it never wanted did so willingly.

-♦-

The distance between the sun and the moon is about 150 million kilometers. And yet, at a single one of the many points time had to give them, they yearned for one another; They were both shining and facing one another, their eyes met fleetingly, and the universe dissolved into an infinite continuum of uniformity.

-☀-

The moon has made peace with how things are, and decided it was grateful that the sun had seen a glimpse of it, however small it might have been. God, was it a great feeling to be seen.

The sun has decided that there was not much it could do, either. And close to its heart, it held the feeling of being blessed that came from knowing that the moon’s eyes have ever been laid on it.

~♦~

~♥~

Ornament

I want to be at the front part of the tree.
I want to be out there, for everyone to see.

This is so, so, so very beautiful, and I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything more. But, I can see how many of those who want the very same thing are much better and shinier than me, and I can see how the many deep scratches and bumps on my surface have killed and buried my shine. I can see how they’ve rendered me a useless shell of nothingness; ugly and not at all special.

I really have no idea if any amout of glue and glitter would fix this, but here I am. Still, pouring glue and glitter all over myself, throwing myself out for the world to see, hoping one of them would think I’d fit their tree.

Still, I am trying.
I am trying, still.

~♦~

Necklace

The sound of running water sliced through the bathroom’s dead silence. I rubbed my hands well, trying to ignore the stare I could feel boring into the side of my face.

I could see from my peripheral vision the silhouette of a woman, but what made me feel uncomfortable was that she just stood there wtihout doing or saying anything. However, I still decided to not say anything, or even look her way.

Less human interaction is always a good thing, right?

I headed to the tissue box to dry my hand, but I pulled and pulled, and the tissue paper only kept growing longer. I pulled with a bit more force, but it still refused to end… I was afraid that this might be a defect with the whole batch of tissues, and I stood there contemplating whether I should keep pulling or just tear out the piece I needed.

Just when I was about to proceed with the latter, I heard a voice from behind me.

“You own a huge part of this world.” the woman stated, sounding amused.

I laughed nervously. “Uh, thanks,” I gave her a little smile. I pulled on the tissue one more time as a way of reacting to the realization that I was indeed being watched, and in my hand came a very long tissue paper, which apparently had an end to it, after all.

I own a defected part of this world, ma’am.

“What’s your name?” I blurted out as I dried my hands, not knowing exactly what I was doing except for trying to act as friendly as possible.

“I am Irma.” she said with a smile. I noticed that she had some missing teeth, and my eyes wandered off to the wrinkles on her face. She seemed too old to be in this place, and I wondered what brought her here.

“I am Stella… Nice to meet you!” I extended my arm towards her. At this point, neither I nor the lady seemed to mind me being a creep right back.

“You’re so sweet!” her smile grew wider, her eyes never leaving my face nor blinking all throughout.

Suddenly she went ahead and clutched the pendant on my chest; the one with planets inside it. I understood that it caught her attention because the colorful thing clearly stood out from all my dark clothing, but I was horrified that she just decided to go ahead and grab it like that.

“I want this necklace, Stella. Would you give it to me?” the woman looked at me as she whispered with a huge smile, both hands secured over the blue, planet-filled orb that dangled off my neck. I could hear a mix of hope and plea in her voice, and I really had no idea why she would care this much about my cheap necklace.

I just stood there for a few seconds, not knowing what to do or say. I could feel the tiny hairs on the back of my neck standing up, voicing out the screams I never dared to let out right there.

“Uh, sure… Here…” I trailed off, trying to keep my all-nice fascade intact and not show how horrified I really was.

The woman pulled away abruptly and the smile left her face the moment I opened my mouth.

Suddenly, I felt like she was scared of me for some reason. “I was kidding… I-… Don’t tell anyone, okay?” she stuttered as she moved away from me quickly, her eyes wide.

I just nodded.

Next thing I knew, I was completely alone in the bathroom, and it was quiet enough for me to hear myself panting.

Banter

The little birds are screaming and their mother is angry because they’re worsening her chronic migraine.

“How do you expect someone who grew up in a house made out of screams, to learn to make any other sound without ever going out?”

~

How disrespectful can you be

To miss the critical differences

Between banter

And fight?

~

I loved nothing more than the feeling of the water seeping into my every hollow. I just let it in and felt it with every inch of my being.

I loved it, and it was the last thing I ever loved.

~

I’m so sorry I used your heart to bait the vultures… I needed their hearts to lure you back home.

Similar

How similar are all the stories
Of the people.
Of their everyday lives,
And the not-so-everyday
Days wrapped in knives
Or days wrapped in velvet;
A coat of tufted fabric;
A coat of blood
Bright with sacrifice.

You cannot have everything,
Neither can I.

Children get worse
When they float high.

But, I am willing
To compromise.

Come, I’ll sing you
A lullaby.
Twinkle Twinkle
Don’t you cry.
I am so sorry
That I’m so right.

Drift

I’m trying to grasp a pile of sand and take it off shore.

But, I’m a boat.

I’m a small wooden boat no one would use. My wooden boards are chapped and cracked, uneven, and barely holding together. I was imperfectly made, and time and humidity decided to take their toll on me and make everything much worse.

“Love, hunt me down.
I can’t stand to be
so dead behind the eyes.”

I love sand, and sand does not love me back. Sand cannot come with me.

Every time I find things that make my life a little bit easier, away I drift from them. I cannot control it, I just find the waves sweeping me away, even if I haven’t spent enough time with them, even if I haven’t said goodbye.

Sometimes I lose track of the space and time I’m swimming through, and I cannot tell whether it’s me who’s drifting, or them drifting away from me.

“And feed me,
spark me up.”

It doesn’t matter, what matters is that I feel alone and I have no one to blame but my maker.

I am a boat, and I am so tired of the water seeping in between my cracks. It makes me so cold. It makes me slower, and it makes me feel like my end is approaching, I can feel myself getting heavier and heavier, and nothing is stopping it.

I don’t want to keep moving all the time. I really wish I had an anchor to throw and just decide for once where I’d like to stay, even if for a short while… but it’s like where I am at a certain point in time is never my decision.

“A creature in my blood stream
chews me up,
So I can feel something.
So I can feel something.”

I really am so sorry.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Lyrics are from “Touch” by Daughter.

Chunky peanut butter

Hello My name is Chunks and I am a lump of chunky peanut butter. Ever since I was a little peanut, everyone has loved my sister, Skips, who’s also a lump of peanut butter. I love her too, of course. I have to. She’s my sister.

The difference between us is that I’m too full of bumps and chunks, and she has none. She’s perfect.

You know, it just hurts when I’m usually thought of as the weird one, the non-standard, the unexpected, the one they take back to the store when they find, the unsmooth peanut butter. Awkward and unwanted. Life is hard.

Seeing people thinking of how unfit I am, of how they cannot eat me straight out of the jar. Seeing people talking about how they can’t see how I could be any useful before taking me back to the store. I am fed up with everything. How can no one see how nutritious I can be?

I just wish I could try and see for myself, how to not be chunky peanut butter.

Tonight I jump off the shelf.

Mirai

Mirai, when you come,
What gift do you plan to get me?
Do I matter? Am I too tiny
for you to see
When I’m tired?
When I’m drenched in sweat
And tears?
When I’m dirtied with the blood
from the wounds of
Cold and fear?

Will you love me back
If I gave up all these things
Just for you?
If I gave up love?
And stopped looking
Up to the sky?
If I gave up home
And meaning?
If I gave up all these
Unrelated parts of my own being?

Will you be more careful
With the gift you’ll pick for me?
If I only dreamt of you?
If I changed my
shape and language?
If I muted this loud voice
and gave this mind directions
To clip both my imperfect wings
And swim across the ocean
just to get to you?

Mirai,
Will you please be kind to me?

_

Art is by Avogado6.

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