#avbd

BEST DAY EVER

She catches sunlight in her palm. Some girls, they filter sunlight and it makes their skin glow, sets their eyes on fire, bathes them in beauty. I see girls everyday, but rarely one who filters sunlight. No, it's a special day when you see a girl who filters sunlight, she warms your heart, you smile for no reason when she's around, she makes you forget why you were sad. She makes you want to change, to be better than who you are, but sunlight always fades. She caught sunlight in her palm. She faded away, into a shade, a shadow, a lost thing. So I got cold, stopped smiling, remembered, reverted and went back to square one. She shined too bright and got burnt up in a supernova of wild nights and wilder dreams. They took her body charred and damaged as it was and reduced it to ash. She flew away on the wind and got stuck in a rain cloud, my days are never sunny now. They never last, sunshine girls. The rain swallows them up.

You of all people, were never worth this.

Here's my heart. Take it. Do what you will, it's no longer mine to control. Burn it, tear it, rip it, destroy it. It's already dead. Here's my tongue. Take it. Ash coats my mouth and blood coats yours. Hollow words fill my wooden tongue. You stole my voice. Here's my soul. Take it. It was yours the first time we met. A small fragile thing. Too easy to break. Here I am. Take me. I'm on the precipice, about to jump. Don't let me fall. Catch me.

My life is made of many filaments, some are long gossamer strands hanging in perfect grace. Others are more like dental floss, squeaky. Most are cotton, the annoying kind which tangles at the slightest twitch of change. But there is one string I hold onto. A triple helix of wool, threaded with silk and you, your essence. I hold onto the strong fibre, it's coarse texture under my hardened skin reminds me of you. The stubble on your cheek, your laugh which resonates depth, your smile, of a man, a friend, a lover. I push my nails in deeper and feel silk, your hands on my hips as we glide across the floor, ballroom was made for us. My cheek grazes the surface and I inhale your scent, wood, earth, salt. I hold onto one string. You and me.

I look in the mirror and wonder, who is she? The girl with the hollow eyes, protruding stomach and fat thighs. Who is she? Certainly not who I imagined. I remember being five, or was it six? Some young age anyway, I remember reading stories about princesses and watching films where the ugly, evil witch was vanquished, while the beautiful sprite of a girl married the hero. So that's who I grew up wanting to be. The sprite. Not the witch. Ugly=evil. Isn't that how the old story goes? The common denominator to every tale? The princess marries the handsome prince and blah blah blah. Happily ever after. Yet I can't help, but wonder. Curious cat and all that. If that witch was so evil after all. Maybe she had her own issues with the pretty girl, maybe that pretty girl had systematically bullied the 'ugly' girl all her life. Indirectly of course, but nonetheless casual comments tend to wound more than a full blown missile attack. At least you can fight back. Maybe I'm being too kind, after all one must rise above such abuse, become stronger, kinder and never turn to food for comfort. The evil witch let herself go. Her own fault. So why shouldn't she be punished for gaining those extra pounds? She's evil for Christ's sake! I mean how can we help it? She's such a push over, she needs to fight back and who doesn't fight back after years of abuse? We all have our breaking point. Well we didn't think she'd go that crazy! Honestly she is soooo evil, not only that, but she's a bitch, slut, cow, harpy, fucked up in the head. Mentally ill. That's not our fault though, as we've said before it all comes down to the strength of the individual. Obviously she was weak. She deserves what she gets. Rot in hell. I look in the mirror and wonder, who is she?

When I think of you, I tend to feel unworthy, not a pleasant feeling. You seem so perfect, carved from the purest marble, icy, pale, untouchable. By the likes of me. Call it what you will, being too fat, too ugly, too pathetic, to spend days caught in the spiders web of a day dream. To make up stories and memories of days in the park, basking in sun shine so hot it burns, lying on grass so soft it's like air, holding your hand and feeling happy. I live a sheltered existence, hidden in the cubby of my room stringing words together, a hapless loner. Melodies tickle my ear drum when I think of you. They spin and sluice through my mind, destroying odd facts and painting evening gowns dancing with tuxedos. The typical dreamer, so caught up in a fantasy she forgets about her life and that's all you are really, a fantasy. Yet, when this fantasy that I've constructed from moon beams and spiders filament seems so real, can you blame me for becoming lost? When I think of you my world seems bathed in light and yes once the light has dimmed, my world goes back to so much darkness. But, my dear isn't it worth it? Just for a day with you. What a cliched existence I lead, I almost hate myself for it, well I do. I hate that just imagining your eyes is more important to me than my education, than my sanity, than my friends, than my family, than my life. I hate you. Loathe you. Despise you. For this, for everything, but I do not want to let you go, I never want to let you go. So I cling to you and you tear apart my heart strings. You slowly erode my mind. You stamp on my tear ducts at night. You stare at me in the mirror and polluted thoughts enter my brain. You watch with glee as the skin parts and blood wells. You are always there, the presence egging me on. Because I'm not worthy, never have been. For the likes of you.

If you were real would it hurt so much? If you existed outside a fantasy, my mind. I do not know, maybe it would hurt less. More likely it would hurt more, because you are untouchable, unkissable, unreachable, you are so far away from me. Even in fantasy. Would I still live in this dream of you? Your hair silky air under my hand, your eyes blindingly bright then gone, your smile a crease engraved on my eyelids. Would your name still linger, a bare whisper on my lips? Would tears still wet my cheek, a mirage of your caress? Imagined memories and embraces which could never occur. Would I still be so helpless to your voice, every deep timbre note coursing through my veins? Would I still love you? Your every fault, your every mistake, your very essence. I would. That's why this hurts, would hurt, so much because I live with every fibre of my being for love. You. The very thought of you is eroding me, how could reality be better? Yet, I want you to be real. Just for one chance, one possible encounter with you, My love.