Reflections in the Mirror of a Distorted Mind II

I didn't want to come here… Oh I've already told you that. How much money have I already spent by repeating myself. That's not much. Yes, I have money. Enough to pay you anyway. I think you are developing a tick. Or a tack. Your eye is trembling. The right one. No. Wait. Don't get angry. Not yet. Okay now, okay, I surrender. Let me tell you a true story.

*

There was once a girl that was called Helena. Yes, that Helena. Helena was a beautiful girl and had always been popular with boys. And with girls as well, mind you. Helena was blessed, or at least so everyone thought, because she had everything a girl would ever want. The looks, the wits, the wealth. But deep down she was as miserable as miserable people come. She wanted something else in life. What exactly, she couldn't tell. So while the lips were smiling, the eyes were sad. And while her body was blossoming her soul was fading. For hers, you know, was an ancient soul. She could see things that others could not. She could feel things. Really feel. When I met her she was at a crossroad in her life I guess. She was falling apart and trying desperately to find something to hold onto. I was in the exact opposite state. At a good place. Which thanks to her turned bad. Her sorrow swallowed me whole, but somehow my presence in her life was enough to keep her floating over the murky waters of her graceless existence. And here comes out the poet in me. But I digress. No, I don't. To make a long story short I fell for her, and, here I am…

*

Do I blame her for my depression? Did you really have to ask that? Of course I do. Before I met her I was… I was… Truth is I never was happy. Nor unhappy. But I was content. She took that away from me. Now I'm mostly unhappy. And I mask my misery behind wide smiles. I smile the questions away. Not yours obviously, since you don't ask many. Why don't you? No I am not upset. I'm not. Did you see what I did there? No? Well, once I've used an apostrophe, just like now, and once I did not. If my sister is bipolar I guess I am bi-parallel or something. Does that make any sense?

*

You think perhaps we should take a break here. You think? You don't know? Are my fifty minutes over already? Well, time flies by in this office. Sorry, practice. But how can a space be a practice? I know you didn't say that. I'm just wondering. Couldn't it simply be a practice space? I mean they are both words. I see a spark in your eyes. Am I an interesting patient after all? A nut job? I guess I am. I find me interesting. What? You want to talk about my mother? Are you crazy? I mean did you know my mother? My mother was… My mother was a figment of my father's imagination. As I am of hers. We are all fictions. Mostly bad ones. Oh, you wanted to know how she was as person. Let me see…

Part I

To be continued.

The image was taken from here.

 

Short Cuts 4

That night trip to the falls. Magic. I don't have to ask you. I know you remember. How could you not?

The blanket on the rocks. The sweet red wine. The whisper of the trees and the thunder of the water. And the stars above. A sky unlike any other. A wonder unlike any other.

***

Where are you now? What are you doing? Is that flame that once pierced your eyes and engulfed my soul gone?

I wish not. As I wish you'll seize to fight. You'll never find happiness where others do. You scare people. They can't handle your honesty. And that's my fault.

***

Friends move on. Friends make new friends. Friends forget. And sometimes are forgotten. But not lovers.

Young love is an ode to the misery to come. And yet. Give me young love and I'll be willing to sacrifice everything at its shrine. Now that I know better.

***

They say that people can't save us. We can only save ourselves. But how can that be? How can that be?

If there are no people in your life, there's nothing to bind you to this world. People may be our killers, but they can also be our saviors. Different people. The ones who are right for us.

Make me, I'm begging you. Make me into someone else. But, alas, I know you cannot hear me...

The image was taken from here.

 

Short Cuts 3

Someone once told me that I was going to drink my life away. I wish they were right, but they were wrong. I know how I'm going to die. Out of boredom. Like my favorite poet did.

Death. It follows my thoughts wherever I go. It breathes into my ear. It makes me want to live. And die.

***

Is there a part of you that still loves me? I wonder. But why would there be? Your eyes are now open. To all my flaws.

And yet. I always think tenderly for you. Because what I had with you was truth itself. Our love made me who I was meant to be. No matter that I hate who I am.

***

The first words. Those I didn't write for you. But that is of no importance. She's now yet another picture in the pantheon of my life. While you are more.

The muse. The conscience. The first person that ever made me admit my mistakes. And whom I've failed.

***

The songs. The music that we've heard lying on a carpet in my house. The lyrics we sang along to.

Your paintings. Your failing. Because you could create miracles if you put your mind to it. But you never believed in you. I still see them. Every day. As a reminder of…

To be continued.

The image was taken from here.

 

Short Cuts 2

I recall. My words. The death of our parents grants us the freedom to die ourselves, I've said. Or live. Depending on the faulty psyche.

I was right. And wrong. A death has set me free. But its memory has kept me captive. Death is the joker in every pack of cards. It decides your fate.

***

Give me a reason to live, I scream to the stars all night. And by morn I'm rich in reasons to die.

The dawn comes as a curse. It promises to bring me yet another day of one and the same. The same thoughts. Silences. Regrets. And anger. Anger towards me.

***

Mercy. I should have shown you that. By staying away from you. I was your bigger blessing, you said. I was your grandest curse, I knew.

You gave me inspiration. You gave me love. And I gave you false hope. And I bought you gifts. And told you how great you are. But, at least I gave no promises.

***

Hope is the thing with feathers, Emily Dickinson sang. But hope is the opposite of dream. Hope is the great pretender.

The ones who dream should do. Otherwise the dream will come to naught. And those who hope should dream. If for them there should remain a hope. It seems that playing with words is…

***

The only thing I know how to do. I was always a storyteller. On the page. In the real world I was a hermit.

I cannot understand the way you think, you said. It was okay. I couldn't understand it either. Then. Now I know. I can only find redemption in the written word...

To be continued.

The image was taken from here.