Character

The birds were floating in the wind, swaying in the sky oblivious to my emotion while liquid strings evenly parted my face. I wanted to howl insanely at the world, and ask ‘why me?’ and ‘what should I do now?’ I wanted to tear myself apart or perhaps I wanted to disappear but, a part of me quietly wished to rise above the ashes and dust myself off.

My essence was aching and weary, I was falling apart silently. All there was left to do was to let my drenched spirit dry off. So I sat up straight, not smiling, nor frowning with one hand sanely supporting my chin I let the liquid strings stemming from my spirit run down my face while I gazed into a life that could have been.

I wanted to call her but she was away, I knew she would know exactly what to say to get me out of this spell.

I was desperate, so I called him instead.

He answered the phone and we talked about the ‘unimportant-importants’ that allowed a single day to have its own unique persona.

Cold liquid strings rested on my cheeks as I offered him my broken spirit. He told me he knew exactly how I felt, that he had been through it before. That it was hard, but that he managed to overcome it. He persevered. He said it made him truly wake up, he said it made him wiser.

I was and still am learning about the one I call ‘him’ and ‘he’. He …surprises me often, displaying maturity and courage and responsibility and plain old common sense. He… inspires me often.

I said to myself, if that is what failing does to those who chose to get back up… then maybe failing isn’t really failing at all. I said to myself I wouldn’t really mind surprising myself occasionally with admirable traits, I wouldn’t mind being a little bit wiser, a little more matured, a little courageous, a little more responsible and a little more conscious. I said to myself I wouldn’t really mind being a little bit more… like him. I wouldn’t mind having ‘character’.

I decided to cease sobbing and heard a loud quiet voice speak. It said: failing does not mean you are a failure.

When liquid strings slice into the symmetry of a face, someone is experiencing the growth of a character.

Possibly

The tears don’t dry because I do not know how to stop them,

From tearing my face into uneven pieces.

I am crying, because I am ashamed.

My heart’s head and shoulders are hunched,

My hearts spine is bent.

My heart’s demeanour is that of infamy and lament.

I want to cry tonight:

For my little heart that droops so low.

And maybe tomorrow,

I will plead for my heart’s forgiveness,

Possibly in the future I will reason with my hearts face to smile again.

Possibly...

THE WORST KIND

... I went: skipping, hopping , running and rolling. I was heart broken and trying to ignore the business of the burning bushes within my own settlements, the dormant seeds lay scattered upon my lands ready for me to reap them and burry them into the ground. I wanted to be buried in the ground. I could hear the wailing of the lonely winds brushing against nothing but the earth searching for the lost leaves and branches. There were no standing trees left in my garden, just dispersed pips and among them the ashes of what was.

I loved him. We are separate now, like rock and water, stick and sand. I was never again to feel the touch of his hand. Restless and wounded, I scurried from one to another hoping they would free me from the ashes and my eroded heart. I dreamt a new love would spring forth and give birth to a beautiful garden, but I woke up not still in my ashy bare garden but a place much worse. I found myself living the life of a rogue. I was dangerously wanton in my ways and so very venomously uninhibited.

I didn’t want to face the remains of what was, I simply didn’t want to feel. A broken heart is one of the worst kinds of reality. Every day I switched off an emotion, anything that could penetrate my heart or conscience. I slid away into an emotional reality that just wasn’t me. I turned my back on who I was, partly because I thought he made up most of me.

...

I grew weary but could not sleep. The intensity of the sharp turns my life was taking forced me to be awake during most hours of the day if not all. I would sleep for as little as two to three hours a day before hearing the persistent knock of my conscience, I couldn’t face her. I was not strong enough. After all what was I to say? … I swallowed my unacknowledged tears. ..