My last appeal...

The things I hide from you...

I almost have no words for the year that is about to come to an end. Never have I felt as much, done as much, gained as much or lost as much. I've not only survived, but I prospered. I've become more attune to myself, and I have a sense that I am one step closer to the dreams I dream - still, to this very day. Torment and agonizing developments left me scarred, yet with a new found determination to reach even higher. For the past four years, ever since I embarked on the true journey of self-discovery, I felt this immense amount of pressure to validate myself as an individual who is capable of receiving love and giving it in return. Now as I stand ready to face whatever might come next, I am calm for I know that when love might lurk its head again, I'll be ready. Until then I push onward, because I understand that my fantasises won't wait for me forever, and if I don't transcend now, I could lose my chance. I have finally found that part of me again that most pity and find unphantomable, but for me it represents my greatest asset - my ability to be self-sufficient. I don't need anybody, and it's not sad or demented. As a writer, it is a curse I gladly bare, for it allows me to create, to find meaning in the meaningless, and share my story with you. And that has always been enough for me.

He's shaking off the rust...

Every habit he's ever had is still there in his body, lying dormant like flowers in the desert. Given the right conditions, all his old addictions would burst into full and luxuriant bloom. But he needs you to know that he has absolutely no pleasure in the stimulants in which he sometimes so madly indulges. It has not been in pursuit of pleasure that he's perilled life and reputation and reason. It has been the desperate attempt to escape from torturing memories, from a sense of insupportable loneliness and a dread of some strange impending doom. There are all kinds of addicts, he would assume. We all have pain. And we all look for ways to make the pain go away - the methods he chose just happened to cause even more ruin. So as he bundles up and tries to figure out what the next incarnation of himself looks like, a smile crosses his face, for he knows that whatever might come, it will surely be a story to remember.

Dreaming out loud...

I've been thinking lately that maybe some things don't get better, and they don't suddenly hurt less or rip through your heart with such intensity. Maybe only we ourselves can. We get stronger and are able to stand firmer. We learn to live with the hand we've been dealt, and accept situations as messy and ugly as they are. We fix what we can and we adapt to what we can't. There is no magic formula or cure. Each and everyone of us is on a journey distinctly unique, yet basely familiar, in order to allow others the ability to comprehend and empathise. Perhaps some of us will never be fully okay, but at least we're here. We're still trying. We're doing the best we can. If you're still reading this after all these years, then congratulations. We've made it to today. We've made it.

Oh steady feet, don't fail me now...

This town is colder now, I think it's sick of us.

It's time to make our move, I'm shaking off the rust.

I've got my heart set on anywhere but here.

I'm staring down myself, counting up the years.

Steady hands just take the wheel,

and every glance is killing me.

Time to make one last appeal

for the life I live.

See what I see...

I am still both happy and sad,

and I am still trying to figure out why that is.

I realised that in fact I have just gone through my first real breakup. I know I've written about lost love before, but none have enveloped my life as profoundly as ours. It's funny how I still have so much empathy for you, and I'm guessing that will never go away, even if it remains one-sided forever. I think ... thinking about you, about us will always make me just a little bit sad. Not because I would yearn for a reconnection, but simply for knowing that I've never come so close to happiness, yet in the same breath, been so far away from it. Perhaps when we meet again, things will be clearer -  we will understand why we did the things we did, why we acted out, and why our story unravelled with such speed. Until then I shall come here and remember you fondly, never forgetting the path walked, and the journey so selflessly shared. 

Here comes love...

It's time to make a move...

Every glance is killing me...

I am drowning, and as one period shuts its door forever, I am left in owe how much more I still need to learn. It doesn't get easier, not one bit. Every step seems harder and heavier, as if the weight of my every mistake was mocking my existence. I am far from perfect, and I stumble more often than I'd dare to admit, yet somehow against all odds I find beauty where there is none. My heart was broken, and I broke one in return, never truly grasping that I had the power to do so. I won't beg for your forgiveness, as you won't for mine, but know that I have changed so much because of you. You showed me that love does exists, and above all, that it is fragile. It can break in seconds, even if it took years to nurture and build. I hope that one day, when we meet again, we shall remember our time together with happiness and bliss. Until then, all I can do, all any of us can do, is simply move forward - one step at a time.

You said you knew the perfect place to run to. A place that was empty of people, and buildings, and far, far away. A place covered in blood-red earth and sleeping life. A place longing to come alive again. It's a place for disappearing, you'd said, a place for getting lost ... and for getting found. I'll take you there, you whispered. You took my hand and we ran as fast as we possibly could. The wind in our hair was a reminder that despite everything, we are still alive. We are still breathing. We are still fighting. But when he turned his back to the lights, he saw that the night was so dark., he couldn't even see the stars. The world felt as high as the depthless night sky and deeper than he could know. He understood, suddenly and keenly, that he was too small to run away, so he sat on the damp ground and cried. And cried. And cried.

Stop and stare...

Once more I am caught in a vortex of thought and misshapen circumstance. I am doing all I can, one could even argue that I'm doing more than most, yet I still feel as if there is so much more that I should do. As reality sets in, my dreams seem further away than ever. The question begs itself since the beginning of this journey - how do I transcend and break free? Perhaps my destiny is to always remain stuck somewhere between the clouds, able to see the stars, but not close enough to touch. I ponder what the last few days of this year shall bring, and I pray that if anything, at least some clarity and sense of closure. Maybe even a promise of something new, of something better, more profound and surely more real. Something quieter, that most won't even notice. Yet it will be my writing on the wall. I am still here, and I want to be heard. And perhaps ... not so very alone.

All I do is watch and cry...

I only wanted to have fun,

learning to fly,

learning to run.

I let my heart decide the way,

when I was young.

Deep down I must have always known

that this would be inevitable.

To earn my stripes I'd have to pay,

and bear my soul

I know I'm not the only one,

who regrets the things they've done.

Sometimes I just feel it's only me,

who can't stand the reflection that they see.

I wish I could live a little more,

and look up to the sky, not just the floor.

I try to think of things to say...

Nobody will ever take your place...

He knew that you would move on eventually - someone like you would have no trouble doing that. And while he is sure that parting ways was right, it still stung a bit when he was hit with the realisation that as of now, someone else is your everything, like he once was. But what lingers the most, is simply coming to terms with the fact that he is destined to be alone, while he sees those he left behind soar to new heights. He won't forget you though, he never does - especially those who had an impact on his journey, and your collision might have just left the biggest echo yet. For memories are bullets. Some whiz by and only spook you. Others tear you open and leave you in pieces. So as he lays here and reminisces about what could have been, he quickly dries his tears, and promises that he will try again tomorrow.

You still keep me up all night...

Rabm čas zase,

da se vase razblinem,

da zginem,

da me ni.

It was a mistake. It was a mistake not making a clear and clean cut. Boundaries were crossed, and I find myself reverting back into old patterns. Feeling like this is not acceptable, because I found that it's effortless to let go of self-absorbed people. It's challenging to move forward from someone you care about and it's exceedingly difficult to let go of an ideal and a belief in someone because what exacerbates the disappointment of finding out they weren't who they presented themselves to be, is the betrayal of it. So from now forward, I won't expect anything in return, and I won't expect my efforts to be appreciated, my potential genius to be discovered, my love to be understood. I will shut the door, change the record, clean the house, shake off the dust. I will stop being who I was, and change into who I am.

To earn my stripes I'd have to pay...

 

Hold me closer until our eyes meet...

I can't believe I've been doing this for as long as I have. While time rushes by, friends leave, lovers break my heart and family crumbles, all of you and what we created seems to be my only constant. Writing words no one reads, and reading words I've already written, can ease my pain even when the windows shutter from the rain and thunder raging outside. Here I feel safe - like there is nothing I could do to fail. The outside world gets really hard at certain points, but it's truly the only thing that makes me burst from life. Sometimes I have to run home, just so I can pour my heart into sentences that have somehow already been composed. I miss out on chances, only to find myself not giving them a second thought, because against all odds, I'm happiest when I'm alone and with all of you.

We are here and we are writers, because someone needs to tell these tales. Those when the battles of love are fought and won and lost. There is magic in our bits of overlapping narrative, never forget that. Because it's in the listener, and for each and every ear it will be different, and it will affect them in ways they can never predict. From the mundane to the profound. You may tell a tale that takes up residence in someone's soul, becomes their blood and self and purpose. That tale will move them and drive them and who knows what they might do because of it, because of your words. That is our role, our gift. Others, who do not bear this curse, are far more likely to survive into the future, but we have the power to shape it. Do not forget that, I beg you, for there are many kinds of magic, after all.