#thedaughterofaries

     Her past was a flowing river that ran through every crack within the road before her. It drenched her future and brought back her past.  It would drown the world around her until nothing was left. But unlike her past her future was unknown. No light beaming start, no darkening end. Just a blank sheet of unknown possibilities piling up upon her mind's creative bed. And the sight drove her mad, day in and out, until dawn's early light and mornings growing sight. She fussed and squirmed to figure out the path to finding her futures true walkway. Never patient was the girl, always bounding towards adventures like her father's fading soul. But the girl lost time trying to find what she need not know, and woke up one day to find herself upon her forties. With kids kindering upon her lap and a husband so sweet clasping the palm of her back.  

     I’m feeling empty again. The drain upon my mind's thought process has been pried open, my heart slashed, and soul stolen. Once again I am nothing but a mere shell of what once was a human. What used to be strong and sturdy is delicate and stiff. The outline of my torn heart painted upon a canvas made from the blank stillness that has now laid itself upon my empty mind. Overtime i sit watching silently as people began to suck away at the crimson liquids in my rotting veins. Today I get to evaluate the red paint that drips endlessly from the tip of a thin bland brush. The strokes it sways caressing every inch of the panels very face. Covering the canvas of my mind in the blood of my body's cunning crimson blood. Creating a spitting image of my minds dimming days.

   Like a cascading river we fall. The world below nothing more than a victim to our landing upon the earth's baring stone. Pain is non-existent from within our empty vessels. Feelings have long evaporated from our minds. Body's now run numb to the feeling of love and pain, madness and desperation.                       Some say we are we aliens to the human races pure minds, feelings, and actions. Though I still remember pain like a needle upon my vein, sadness like the sound of heartbreak, and madness upon wars great outbreak. So who are those who have had no mere experience of what we have felt to say anything about our state of being, The pin prickling of my skins light layers. The mad sounds of a caged man's howling screams. Even the saddening sound of a child's last breath as their father beats them to death. I have felt these great pains, I felt them hard and long. I felt them until the day I became the empty shell of the being I am now.                                                                     Because of our past, of the things we have experienced. They call us aliens, freaks, and things even I dare to speak. We are no longer human for the mere reason that we can't feel. That we can't feel what they hold in their burning hearts. For the shuddering fact that we no longer bear the burden of the distraction known as feelings. So over time we came to see and watch as feelings destroy people faster than bombs. And like water we flow, right from the stream and into the land.

      I sometimes feel I can only write for myself. That no one else really needs my writing.  Maybe I am afraid of being stolen from, or maybe it's the cruel reminder that most writers never actually ever get anywhere. I wanna rip apart people's hearts, I wanna make them swoon over every page of every chapter of every book I wrote. I wanna see people at the edges of their seats nibbling on the tips of her flawless nails in defeat as there soul is stolen from thee and stored upon every page of the story they deem so incredible. But still, I write for myself, and for the people who brought me here.

      Your taste may be bare, colors sparse and bland. Your voice may be nerving and cold, looks supple and light. But unlike others I find these things so much more perfect than the soothing, prestien, and spicy looks of another. No, to me you are the most beautiful and the most pristine of all. With your balanced mindset and your witty smarts, I think you will sadly forever hold my heart.

Okay so this sounded way better in my head but enjoy!

      How do we let go truly? How do we forget something that may had made us into what we are now? My mother once said to me that some people are made different. Some may forget traumatic moments and others may remember those traumatic moment more vividly than any other moment in their life. At a time in my life I would have agreed with this. But unknown to her I have gone through more than she can acknowledge. I have done things others may find undeniably selfish but I have also done things that others may find heroic. In our lives we do so many things. We hurt ourselves as well as others. We protect others and ourselves. We love, we hurt, we trust, we fail, we win, and we continue on. So how do you let go of memories so easily? Bad or good the memories we make form us into what we grow up to be. So why do people purposely forget? And how come others cant forget what they truly need to? What is right to forget and what is not? There are so many things I still don't yet understand that I wish could be so easily explained.

      What does it truly mean to be human? Is it the feelings we uphold, the actions we form, the things we build, or even the integrity we seem to live upon. Religion and Science, is this what makes us human as well? Being made from a god? Or being created from a evolution of Chimps? What are we really? And how will we ever know exactly who we are and what it means to be us. What it means to be human.