#atsidka

Lately, I have been thinking, and usually, this is only a recipe for shitty and very self-loathing writing if you need examples simply scroll through my works. But recently I was challenged to try and stop being so self-pitying, to be honest, it kind of pissed me off at the time, but after several steps back I came to a realization. I lost sight of the reason why I love to write. Somewhere in the numerous gloomy entries and the swirl of my own angst I totally forgot why I even wanted to be a writer in the first place. When I was little I loved to read fantasy and fiction, I still do but I have begun to consume historical and philosophical pieces as well. The reason why I have always been drawn to fiction is that it represents the worlds we all, more or less, wish to live in. The ones where at the end of the day good always triumphs, where the princess is always saved, and justice always finds its way to victory. I loved the stories, I loved the locations, I loved the action, and above all, I loved the characters. Characters like Harry Potter, Eragon, Holt the Ranger, Geralt of Rivia, Aragon, Frodo, the list is endless but the point is that these characters were who I wanted to be. When I was little I believed that I wanted to be them precisely, down too the superhuman powers and epic quests, but as I grew older I realized that above all else I wanted the traits they represented. Our heroes on paper show bravery, perseverance, mental and physical toughness, and the ability to overcome any obstacle, even if that obstacle is our own shortcomings. I wanted to create characters like that, I wanted to create my own stories, ones where I determined every facet of the world and the struggles they would face, no story ever fully satisfied me, there was always that small part of me that wished I could be the author and write the endings and plot points that I wanted.

I think we all want to write our story, literally and metaphorically, we all want to be in control of our own world, to dictate what happens and how problems will be dealt with. That is why I started writing when I was young, I always wanted to write my own story, one where no matter what the outcome, it would be my decision. Somewhere along the way, I lost sight of that, I became more interested in being edgy, in showing the world the pain I believed myself to be in, with this realization I can’t help but hate everything I have written over the past few years. It feels hollow, it feels like I am reading someone else’s work, a person that it is becoming harder to recognize. I still enjoy darker things, I will never be a person who wants to write some bubblegum pop fantasy world where it is bright and shiny every day. I still think there is almost no better inspiration than the true grit that exists in the world around us, but now I have a different view on it. It doesn’t always have to be hopeless, the world rarely is, it is almost always good in the bad, and perhaps I need to do a better job of portraying that in my work. I still don’t have a full grasp on what I want to write now, I think that that journey is a long one and all I can do is bleed my pens dry trying to figure it out. I can’t promise it will be good, in fact, it could all be horrendous, but I think that for sake of being honest with myself, I need to make the journey none the less.

Signed,

I think we often overlook how much optimism it really takes to live. Every day people go through horrendous things, tragedies we could never even begin to fathom, and yet the majority of them go on living. Whether they will ever be able to fully recover is another matter, but the fact they keep going despite these events is a testament to the optimism of life. Optimism is defined as; hopefulness and confidence about the future or the successful outcome of something, so how is it that life requires optimism? As I have previously stated, people go through some awful things every day, things most are fortunate enough to never have to experience, and yet they keep going. Therein, lies the optimism, they have the ability to simply end their lives, to prevent any furthering suffering that they would have to experience, but instead the majority of them decide to live on. They display the hopefulness in optimism, they are subconsciously expressing hope that despite what they have already endured, they will manage to put their lives back together. There is confidence required in living itself, a confidence that one will not simply drop dead in the prime of their life, if there wasn’t then we would simply be huddled in bunkers awaiting death by illness or old age itself, that isn’t living, that is simply surviving. It requires confidence to embark out into the world despite knowing the risks that our everyday life presents, a stray bullet, a car that hits a curb, a plane falling from the sky, all of these things could end us, and yet the majority of us decide that the risk is worth it. 

She was everything I had ever wanted in a woman and she knew it too. Her pale flesh seemed to call out to mine like a siren, and I was Odysseus strapped to his mast trying desperately to resist her call. I watched as the drugs took hold of her, I watched as she contorted her lithe body in the strangest shapes, her inner gymnast was emerging before my very eyes. I reached out to her, she was like a lifeline in the ocean of my emotions, the drugs were beginning to take me as well. I felt a rush of ecstasy as she reached out and grabbed my hand. I don’t know if this is love, but goddamn at the moment it certainly felt like it.

“Hold me,” she said it so fast that I barely had time to react as she fell into my arms, she was small, she fit perfectly into my arms as I caught her.

She was so warm, or maybe that was just my temperature rising, I don’t know, what I do know is that at the moment I thought that I had found the one. The one who would make me forget about the others, the one who would dominate my mind and soul with her presence

“Forever”, I whispered in her ear, and I honestly think I meant it when I said it. Somewhere deep inside of me, I knew though, I knew that I could never fulfill that promise.

“Don’t.” there was a sadness in her eyes when she said this as if she knew that she could never take her rightful place in the very center of my heart. I hated seeing that, I hated the fact that she felt like she could never measure up to someone who would never even know. I hated the fact that she was right, but above everything else I hated that I couldn’t force her to be right.

“I-” she cut me off before I could finish, I felt her slender finger press against the center of my lips, I could taste the cigarette she had smoked and I didn’t even care. I knew how I felt about her, even if she didn’t think I could feel that way. I knew that if the choice were given to me, I would choose to love her, I would choose to give her my all. But I couldn’t, despite how much I desired, I could never commit to her the way that both she and I wanted.

The bed was a mess, a mess of blankets and moist sheets, the smell of their sweat seeped into the air of the room and stained the walls. The table was equally messy, but this was a mess of empty bottles, cigarette butts and suspicious white residue.

They lay entwined on the floor of the dingy apartment, panting from their previous activity. As exhausted as she was she couldn't help but throw her arm across his chest and pull herself closer too him, she loved the sensation of his body heat against her wet skin. He didn't resist, in fact he pulled her in closer and pressed his lips against her temple. There was no where on this Earth that either of them would rather be.

They were both hammered, drunk in love and drunk from the copious amounts of whiskey they had consumed throughout the night. They would both be feeling the hangover in the morning, but at the time they could only feel the ecstacy of being so close to one another. This was a feeling neither of them ever wanted to give up, but fortunately they would never have too. Eventually they both stood up and set about cleaning the place up, clearing their clothes from the floor, making the bed and cleaning up the messy table in the middle of the room.

They showered together, it took all of their will power to resist making love once more in the steam of the hot water. They groomed themselves, dressed in their best and returned too the soiled leather couch in the living room of their lamentable living area. They sat there for a while, simply enjoying each other's company, they wanted to savor every last moment of their time together. They simply sat in silence, staring at each other, soaking in the others soul and being into their own until they felt as thought they truly were one.

Why was I so cursed as to have you waltz into my life. When we had first met I had dared to hope that I could simply allow you to exist. Yet, here I sit, thinking about you so long after the fact.

Why was I so cursed as to have you waltz into my life. Why was I the one to be ensnared, why was I the one that had to be caught in your gaze. Why do those green eyes haunt me like the worst nightmares?

Why was I so cursed to have you waltz into my life. Your pale skin, your warm breath, why do they plague my waking thoughts. Why can I not remove the vision of you from my mind?

Why was I so cursed to have you waltz into my life. Why are you so alluring to me, why can I not accept the leagues that separate us? Why do you insist on keeping me in your life when I am trying so desperately to flee.

Why was I so cursed to have you waltz into my life. Why do the thought of your cigarette breath and coy smile drive me wild? Why does the sight of you make my head rush and my palms sweat?

She was everything I had ever wanted in a woman and she knew it too. Her pale flesh seemed to call out to mine like a siren, and I was Odysseus strapped to his mast trying desperately to resist her call. I watched as the drugs took hold of her, I watched as she contorted her lithe body in the strangest shapes, her inner gymnast was emerging before my very eyes. I reached out to her, she was like a lifeline in the ocean of my emotions, the drugs were beginning to take me as well. I felt a rush of ecstasy as she reached out and grabbed my hand. I don’t know if this is love, but goddamn at the moment it certainly felt like it. 

“Hold me,” she said it so fast that I barely had time to react as she fell into my arms, she was small, she fit perfectly into my arms as I caught her.

She was so warm, or maybe that was just my temperature rising, I don't know, what I do know is that at the moment I thought that I had found the one. The one who would make me forget about the others, the one who would dominate my mind and soul with her presence

“Forever”, I whispered in her ear, and I honestly think I meant it when I said it. Somewhere deep inside of me, I knew though, I knew that I could never fulfill that promise.

“Don’t.” there was a sadness in her eyes when she said this as if she knew that she could never take her rightful place in the very center of my heart. I hated seeing that, I hated the fact that she felt like she could never measure up to someone who would never even know. I hated the fact that she was right, but above everything else I hated that I couldn’t force her to be right.

“I-” she cut me off before I could finish, I felt her slender finger press against the center of my lips, I could taste the cigarette she had smoked and I didn’t even care. I knew how I felt about her, even if she didn't think I could feel that way. I knew that if the choice were given to me, I would choose to love her, I would choose to give her my all. But I couldn't, despite how much I desired, I could never commit to her the way that both she and I wanted.