Conscious decoupling from media sounds so pretentious, eh? But it's real simple and right now, in total honesty, so necessary. Without it we are in danger of hitting empathy depletion and the "I don't care" attitude becoming a permanent harshness that becomes cold and cruel. Instead, "For the sake of my mental health, I am temporarily not going to care about what is in the media," gives you the benefit without the harm. It allows you to still care deep down, to acknowledge that when you are able to you will return to deep caring about society, but to take a vacation from the drain that imposes on your mental energy, to rest, to recharge, to take care of your life so that you can take care of those whom depend on you. The media has become the worst soap opera in history and the episodes keep on coming - geez - bing watch anything dramatic long enough and it'll send you loopy.
She was my angel. Because I fell for her demons first. Vowed to kill and bleed for her. I was the devil of the story. But her presence gave me a reason to want to go to heaven. How she could affect souls! It was awe-inspiring. Worth seeing. She was the one, who loved me eternally, irrevocably, and unconditionally. She had me in her thrall. She completed me. Washed away the blood of brutality off me.
Her voice was more soothing than a thousand kisses. Her touch was softer than feather. She was the proof that one could walk through hell, and still be an angel. She knew me inside and out, and still loved me for what I was. She was my guardian angel.
I ache when I see you smile.
I want it to be directed towards me. For me. Because of me. I want to bring you joy; be the source of those lit eyes and dimpled cheeks. I watch you bring so much happiness to those around you. Feel the warmth you’ve given me.
You show me how to find beauty in a cruel world.
You try so hard to do so well. You worked hard. You fought for every step; even if it wasn’t always in the right direction. You wanted to fly and now you’re soaring. I’m afraid. I’m so afraid you’ll crash. That I’ll have to watch it happen. I ache to think there’s no way for me to help if you do.
I still watch you.
Sometimes it becomes a source of guilt. If I have no place in your life, why do I keep following you like this? If you noticed, I’m scared what you’d think of me. I've never been heartbroken before. For that I’m sometimes glad I know you won’t.
We’ll never meet. That’s probably a good thing.
If we met, if we spoke; what would you think of me? That’s what scares me the most. Sometimes I’m left wondering if it’s better we don’t meet. Maybe it would be better if I let you fade from my life, back out of it like you were never there.
But I can’t let go.
Did you ever read the words I did, the ones a child hasn’t forgotten? ‘Kindred spirits’. They make me think of you. Is that truth or my wish? My instinct is that it’s true. But in the same thought I know we wouldn’t agree. The same thoughts or feeling but with a different approach?
I want to be there. I write late into the night because of how much I do. I want to hold your hand. To dry your tears. To take the pain and anger I know you hide. Yet here I sit typing without aim, watching through a screen. To develop an unattainable desire wasn’t wise. I knew it when I started. But we keep moving. Has it been two years already?
The ache won’t fade.
Bottle in the Sea
To Whomever Receives This Bottle:
I never expected that I'd be lost and forgotten to the world. I suppose I write this hoping that perhaps you will remember this note sometime after you finish reading it, and in that way my memory lives on. Somehow that's enough. Now listen closely, if you've found this bottle it means that even though it has been tossed to and fro by the waves, perhaps pulled by the undertow and cracked against the rocky reef, it still found you. With that being said, life may break you, but know you are too strong to shatter. Your journey is your own. Do not be afraid if it's perilous. Take heart. Face your worries for they will be too afraid to face you. Ride the currents, do not let them control you. Listen to your heart for it is more than just a beat. The one you seek will find you when you least expect it, and they will give back what your journey has taken away. Your boat, your guide: you chart your course, not anyone else. Take responsibility for your faults, but do not apologize for them: they are what make you human. Dwell not on your mistakes, because your mistakes will sail you on the greatest adventures.
Wars rage on, soldiers fight. We pray for the safety of our loved ones, their only photos shattered into a million tear-stained fragments. We sing melancholy songs for the nightingales who swoop through the sky carrying our whispers of encouragement up, up, up to heaven, where our lost ones frolic in a land unlike the one below, so consumed with rage, hatred, and greed. I wish we were up there, a happy family all together not a grieving family torn apart by the selfish deeds of men who seek happiness for themselves and themselves only, for we, to them, are lesser men, servants considered with cold utility rather than love.
The forest hums with life all around me. I twirl about, gazing up at the canopy, searching for the birds that sing sweetly. The sun breaks through the cracks, lighting up the dirt path ahead of me, decorated with outgrown roots, wildflowers and fallen leaves that crunch beneath my bare feet. I trudge on, taking in the fragrance of minty grass and the damp earth. Each breathe is like water, fresh and cleansing, flowing freely into my lungs.
I know it’s an addiction. Everyone tells me. But it’s to painful to let go of. It’s always there for me when nothing else is. It makes my brain feel happy again. And I feel so bad to just let go because it’s like my best friend. What’s my addiction you ask? Well it’s...