left and leaving

9/2/2015 – Day Nineteen.

I am not here.

My things are here but I am far from here. Can you grow up in a course of a few weeks? Can you change your perception of things in the course of a few days? As I sit and look at everything in my room, I have never felt so detached from things. Its as if all these things were placed without my permission. Without my knowledge. I am seeing everything and wishing everything would disappear. I wonder why did I care so much for these material things, when I don’t need them. I look at these things collecting dust and filling up empty spaces with clutter, and wonder, why?

I want white walls and bare spaces.
I want a simpler way of looking at things.
I want to take everything I have and get rid of it all.

Take everything and give it all away. Nothing in this space feels like me anymore. Take every last piece of materialism and give it to someone else. It’s not welcome here.

I can’t hide forever. I can’t keep pretending that at any moment all these things will disappear. That someone will come and stake a claim on everything. Everyone deserves the world and to leave me with the scraps. I just don’t want anything anymore. Everything must go. As much as it pains me to unpack, I have to resume as everything is normal. That everything is okay. Even when it’s not in place.

The clothes back on the hangers, the socks in the drawers, and the toiletries back in their rightful place. But it still feels like I am gone. That I am going through the motions. I could state at the ceiling, wrap myself in blankets and wish it all away. We all know wishes don’t come true. As much as I close my eyes I have to wake up into this chaos. Separate what I want from what I need and hope with it comes bare spaces and white walls.

Simplify.

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Photograph.

I want to leave a piece of myself in every place that I go. In oceans, in woods, in big cities many people call home. Roam the earth and haunt the streets. Kiss a thousand strangers and leave my feet firmly planted on the ground. Beneath the streetlights that illuminate night skies. Where nothing feels as broken as you feel. Where everything feels like a completely new beginning and experience.  Leave pieces of myself in everyone that has left ghosts of their former selves with me.

Nostalgia, why do you continue to let me down? Letting me believe that photographs are what is left of our memories of the past. That something so simple is left time stamped in a photographic memory. The sooner the years pass, the sooner we leave our memories behind us. Deep rooted in the ghost towns of our minds, where words are never spoken but constantly replayed melodies form instead. I watch the cities that I love, continue to sky rocket and change with the times. Meanwhile, I watch the town I grew up in flourish then turn to dust. I watch the ghosts of my past fill the empty spaces with open arms and hollow expectations.

All these photographs I keep of people long forgotten in stories I can only tell myself. Of cities larger than my hometown. Of boys that played games with my heart that turned into men that always broke my heart. Photographs scattered and framed in a million places waiting for a retelling of a nostalgic fairy tale. Friendships that would last forever, until we grew up and become the opposite of what we were afraid of. A piece of me in every frame of the photographs that keep hidden in my memory. It’s the only place I don’t feel alone, it’s the only place I don’t feel broken.

Let me leave these pieces of me in everywhere I go.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

12/20/2010

Leaving.

I want to go to places where no one knows my name. Where no one knows my past. Where I can sit in silence and glance up at the stars. Runaway to the mountains to oceans to land, as far away as I can see. Keep my voice silent, keep myself still.

Anywhere, but here.

Take mental photographs of everywhere I go. Keep everything on the inside. Run away from faces, shapes, and time. Believe that only what is in front of me is what truly exists. I want to breathe in so deeply my heart trembles and my lungs fill every empty space with long lasting air. Feel the clean air absorb my lungs and slowly awaken my soul. Take a car ride to an unfamiliar place and be silent with the world. Where no one knows my secrets and no one tells me lies. I am running out of time with people. I am running out of time with myself.

Can I run away instead of staying in one place? It’s always better to be someone else, somewhere else.

I want to drink away these sorrows, wash away these feelings. Take away everything that’s caused me all this pain. Believe that not all good people do terrible things. If I run away from this, I will be running away forever. Running away from the pain that always follows and haunts my every step. But I can’t leave this place I called home. I can’t leave from the problems that will continue to follow. If I stay completely still these feelings will wash away from me forever. Just for a little bit, just for a little while.

Leaving.

8.09.15

How to Disappear Completely.

I want to disappear.

Disappear into the mist of a haunting song. Be lost in the melody and forgotten between the bars. I am not there, I am not anywhere. I want to race toward the dark and hide within the sounds of sorrowing goodbyes.

I do this to myself. I do this on my own. I am not there. If you saw me, you wouldn’t see right through me. If you saw me, I wouldn’t need to disappear.

I watch the memories tarnish and turn shades of bronze. I watch people come and go as they please and burn themselves brightly in the sun. But I am not there. I watch myself drop beneath the shallow graves into the ground. I watch as one by one of my scars open up slowly. I am bleeding turning black and blue, but you don’t see me. I’ll be gone before you know it. I’ll be gone before the words reach you.

I am crystal clear in the sunlight days, but now I bleed black and blue. If only I could outstretch my arms to the skies and reach straight to the stars. If only I could pretend that a little light is better than no light at all. Slowly I sink beneath the hollow ground beneath the earth and silently turn to dust.

I am not there.
I am disappearing.
I am leaving.

Gone.

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7/10/2015

Distance.

I am seeing ghosts in the places where people used to be. The fog comes for people quickly leaving behind their bodies but taking with them their soul and bones. I wonder how much of what you believe, you believe for yourself. Leaving behind your wounded and settling ashore. I could tell you everything. Anything you wanted to hear. Now I sit and watch a ghost of you, mimic your same thoughts.

What did I do to merit all this silence?
What did I do to lose all your mistrust?

I could ask myself a thousand questions but never get a single answer. How generic our thoughts become once we start to lose someone. How simple our responses once we’ve lost it all. The world is filled with busy movers and shakers. Filled with replacements ready to take our place. But I’m too afraid of the dark to see you gone. To afraid of ghosts and their spirits that linger after. I am sorry, I couldn’t be who you wanted me to be. I am sorry, that I disappointed you just as the others did. Maybe it was foolish to believe that we could live forever. Instead I am living with all the ghosts you left and the memories after.

If I could take everything back I would. Anything to bring back what we had before. Everything that made the imperfections perfect. The responses realistic. Anything to take away the generically calculated conversations. Anything to take away the awkwardness of today and tomorrow. I can’t bring you back, if you don’t want to try. I can’t asks ghosts to bring back the dead, once they’ve already left. I can’t ask people to stay with me, once they’re already miles away. All this distance just to find a peace of mind. All this mystery just to prove that what you’ll miss is what you always took advantage of. Saying sorry is better than saying goodbye. Goodbye would mean this would be over and sorry proves that maybe there’s just one last chance.

Just one last chance, before you go completely.

I promise, I’ll change.
I promise, I’ll be better to you.
I promise, I’ll stop being so fucking selfish because all that really matters is you.

I am sorry.

1/22/2012

 

I am not her.

I remind people of someone they’d like to forget. Mothers, sisters, lovers, daughters. I remind people of someone so vile they lose a sense of human decency. I become a punching bag of the ghosts of women past. Someone they can point a finger at and blame all their problems on. I am an easy target, for all I do is take all these emotions and harbor them inside. Its the memories that keep this illusion of who I am alive in your memory. Who you think I am and who I am is completely different to you and me. You could care less who I really am. All that matters is who you believe I am. All I do is just keep reminding you of liars, sinners, and deceitful people.

The memories of the past are what haunt you. Clouding your judgement and making this image of who you think I am. Everything I do is wrong in your world. Reminding you of people from your past that you long to forget. I remind you of every hurt emotion and the pain that follows. You scream, fight, and laugh in my face. You point your judgmental fingers at me and cut me down to the size you believe fit for me. You should have stayed alone, you should have stayed away from me. But you didn’t. There was always something about me that made me different from the rest. Then again there was always something about me that reminded you of pieces of everyone you tried to forget. If you could hurt me, you would. If you could take everything away from me, you would.

If you want me to hate you, I will. I will bandage all these bruises and hide all these scars, and never forgive you. It was only a matter of time before I began to hate you. Hate you for everything you stood for. Hate you for the lies, the sorrow and the grief. But like you, there was something about you that I couldn’t stay away. So I stayed with the belief that I was being punished for everything any female had ever done wrong to you. If you cut me, I will bleed. If you hurt me, I won’t forget. Its your memories that haunt you with these illusions of who you think I am. But I am not her. I am not them, I just wish you would see that.

I remind you of a person from your past. People you wished didn’t exist so everything would stop hurting for once. I remind you of the sinners dressed up like saints. The girl that said she loved you but became a woman that said she can’t.  But I can’t pretend that these cuts don’t hurt, when I see them bleeding. That when you drag me through the mud, it doesn’t scrape my knees. I remind people of someone they would like to forget. But I hope you remember that I am not her.

I am not her.

4/17/2008

My dress it hangs there.

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Life has a funny way of imitating art. Which is why I find myself loving so many photographs, paintings, and writings of everything. Art has a way of captivating you deep down into your soul. Pulling something out of you that at times you forget you still had. I think of how much my life has changed and yet, I find myself so in touch with the past. How things from our present find ways to remind us of things from years prior.

Its when I think of the past that it reminds of me of the dress. The last dress I purchased that held so much promise of color and new beginnings. How the colors so different found a way to compliment each other. I think of the last moments I wore that dress, and how after so many years the image of that dress never seems to escape me. It continues to remind me of a halfway point. The point between here and there, never fully grasping the concept of being home. Home was where I was suppose to want to be, but being in between here and there I never understood. It took a while to get myself to pick up the dress and find it a home. Because keeping it stationary meant that it would last forever in that in-between places. That seeing it day after day and how it would just hang there for the world to see. Hang there for me to one day come to conclusion that this was home again. It was my own fear of returning home and counting my losses. My own fear of seeing my life for what it was, and not some in-between place journey but coming home to pick at my scabs and start over. The dress it just hung there, waiting, patiently to be put away.

It’s been months since I’ve put the dress away. Months since I’ve worn and seen the dress. Still the image of the dress hanging between rooms, doesn’t seem to escape me. It sits waiting patiently to be put away. I think of it as the last of the decades of leaving. The last escape of this godforsaken town. But still even months after it’s been put away, I can still see it. I see the blue, green, and navy. I see the image of the dress just swaying back and forth with the life surrounding it. I see how much I loved that dress when I purchased it, I see how I couldn’t wait to never see it again.

Art has a funny way of imitating life. I can sit and stare at a painting of a dress hanging between the chaos of New York, and still think of that dress. How the dress just hung in-between here and there. How much I wished for the dress to be leaving to far off distant places and instead watched it be buried to the back of the closet. Still that image beckons to me, haunts me. I watch the life of the dress disappear into the dark mysteries of life. Waiting, patiently for the day to reappear. Waiting for the day to be brought back to life. I just can’t bring myself to wear that dress but its memory still haunts my mind from time to time. On the days when I feel like I am in-between places. I’ll never know where I am going but I know eventually I will leave this place and with me that dress will join me. Maybe soon.

But still it waits.

Patiently.

4/14/2012

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Please don’t go, I love you so.

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Letting go is only easy in words and phrases. We find ourselves cataloging every life experience and weighing out the options of ever truly leaving. Letting go only happens once we truly reach our breaking point, after second, third and fourth chances have washed away to nothing. Dusting ourselves off and hoping for the best in battered broken people that we can’t help but want to fix ourselves. Truth is we want to be the one leaving but to have people leave, we can’t stand the breaking.

I have a tendency of believing that people are exactly as they are in my memory. In memories people never change, they always remain the same person. Frozen in a time period and illusions of a good story. In memories people never tell you how they truly feel until it’s too late. Until the illusions shatter and you’re left with trying to piece together the parts of a broken puzzle. Why can’t we just all live in the nostalgic ways of yesterday? Why does everything in life have to change? We grow up and out of our juvenile tendencies but does it also have to change who we are as people.

Letting go is all part of growing up. I can’t seem to wrap my mind around that. Some where inside I still believe people are exactly who they are upon first meeting them. It’s hard for me to believe that change happens when you grow up. People you were once close to can become strangers. The people you once depended on can become distant just as the memories of your childhood youth. Everyone becomes a footnote in the story of your life. The more you hold on to them to stay, the more they walk away and disappear. You can’t help but blame yourself for the distance and believe it was everything that you did. Why is it so easy for people to leave and so hard for them to stay? Why can’t I just let people go, just as they have done to me?

Maybe I am still juvenile in my way of thinking. Believing in mystical beings and perfect settings of the universe. Believing in the good of every person I encounter and wishing for things to remain the same. I am not afraid of change, I am just afraid of people leaving and never returning. Fear of saying goodbye too early and watching the memories disappear. Time is moving faster and before we know it, everything we once loved has tarnished and gone away. People we spent endless times with disappear faster than sand through hour glasses. We can’t keep begging people to stay. We can’t keep holding on to memories that no longer exist. All nostalgia ever does is bring us down.

But still, I can’t let go.

Break my heart. Tell me every dark thing imaginable, just don’t ever leave me. Please let me hold on for the sake of memories and nostalgic reasons. What ever you do, please don’t go. Let me hold on to the night skies and every story that follows after. Let me keep pretending in Neverland and fighting pirates. Anything but the art of leaving and letting go. Anything but that.

Please don’t go, I love you so.

3/13/2010

Left and Leaving.

I am afraid of Goodbyes, which has made it hard for me to let go. Holding on to things long after the after glow. It should be easy to be done and over with it all, but I keep coming back for more. Waiting for people to change, waiting for everything and the in-between. I can change everything else in my life but I can’t change the feeling of letting someone go. Holding on to the nostalgia of different times when things really mattered, realizing it never really mattered at all.

Why does it always happen to me? Am I not enough? Don’t you care enough to stay?

People are so self consumed in there own misery to notice you. I am no stranger to that. But when you need something you call on me, I always listen. It’s only when you need me around that you can find me. It’s been months since communication stopped and still you need me around. It’s hard letting go to the people that only need you sometimes. The flood of memories surrounding you don’t out weigh the outcome. If I bleed, would you even notice? If I said I needed you, would you bother to be there? We are all in the market to use someone. We make friends to legions and flocks of people, just to use from them all their resources. Needing something from everybody. Occupy our time with the expectations of a good time. I can’t pretend that it doesn’t hurt when people forget me. I can’t pretend that no matter how many times I try, It’s just not enough. Who am I to compete with the beautiful and damned? Who am I to say that feeling alone is never really lonely?

If I was perfect, people would want me. If I had everything you needed, people would need me. If I hadn’t said all the things I said, people would care enough to listen to my story. People can go into silence and pretend that memories are just ghost stories of the past. Maybe that’s all I am, a funny story of the past. Something you tell yourself to feel better about the past. When you’ve dried up your last resource is when people come back. I wish I could be that person for you. That I didn’t feel like just another photograph that you filter out the imperfections. Some days it hurts and some days its easier to forget people. Thats all I am trying to do, have the courage to forget people. Making the goodbyes, easier to say.

For the first time I didn’t feel like inviting you out. I stopped including you in my stories. I stopped planning adventures and asking you to go. If I pretend you don’t exist, it makes it hurt less. Maybe all silence ever is, is a softer way of leaving and letting go.  I watched the memories turn to dust and replaced them with something shiny and new. It’s after you are left alone that the leaving becomes easier. If it wasn’t for me to reach out, I wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with. All we need is to be alone with our thoughts to finally grow up and let go. I find myself becoming a grown up. I am growing up, as much as I wish I wasn’t. We all are, even you. I just wish I could see it all through.

2/4/2015