Amicitia Funere

The music was somber and slow,

an old, out of tune pipe organ.

The lights were dim, and flickered,

the air heavy against my lungs.

My slow steps are silent, muffled

by the tear stained, worn out carpet.

It was just the two of us there,

standing on either side of the room.

Your eyes remain downcast, angry,

while mine burn stinging red.

We sit down, a suitable distance,

and fear speaking the first word,

for once we begin, it's the end.

"We are gathered here today", at last,

and so you stand, hands cradled

around a well worn box of memories.

I watch you stride to the front

and place the box in the coffin.

You stand back, still looking away,

and then it's my turn, at last.

My box is falling apart, duct taped,

and stuffed to nearly overflowing.

Gently, down beside yours, it lies,

and then we're nearly through.

The lagging music continues to play,

and as my heart begins to break,

we both leave the darkened room.

And that was the funeral of our

friendship.

Echoes of Jane Eyre

(I just finished watching the newest version of Jane Eyre for probably the fourth or fifth time and the emotions really spoke to me this time, inspiring this.) 

 I have felt pain of the highest degree, both within and without. My very soul has been brought to the edge of humanity, held hostage above the fires of hell. My dreams were given abundantly and then torn away with even greater zeal.

 I was led upon the highest hill on a summer’s afternoon and then abandoned when the rains began to fall. My very heart has been filled with rapturous joy and then torn out of my body, leaving behind a gaping, oozing wound.

 I was a wraith, a shadow of my real self. My empty soul drifted without a destiny across dreary rolling hills. Rain fell and hid my tears, though they fell without ceasing.

 In the darkest of valleys have I journeyed and despite every hope, the nights remained long. Every hope did its best to thrive but as a plant with no roots soon withers, so did every hope.

 Every night was an eternity of its own, with the mocking whispers of memories surrounding. Your laughter, every sweet, love laced word, every unintentional yet fully intentional touch. All of these things now ripped away, save the taunting echoes.

 Yet despite every hurt, and the hollow ache, I still live. Despite how broken I have become, still, I draw in breath and then release it. When all tears have been cried and all words have been said, still, I live. Though the never-ending darkness resides with me, the light still shines upon me as well and I live. 

Anamchara

(I'll probably be writing these short little things all summer. They're inspired by many different things)

  They were both born believing everyone was perfect, except for them. Even as young children, they both knew of their brokenness and were ashamed of it. The scars of the heart equaled the scars across their flesh. Disappointments, trials and darkness all differentiated them from the others.

  

 She thought she was slowly going mad; he thought he was simply born to mess things up. They were alone for many years, trudging laboriously through the whirlpool of life.

 Somehow, the two broken dreamers collided and recognized themselves in the other. Friendship, a bonding, occurred more quickly than normal. A desperate clinging, a forming without a strong base.

 Because of their natures, they broke apart and scattered. She fell into a dark valley, while he ran away to an empty forest. Alone again, as they thought they were truly meant to be.

 Yet somehow, the valley soon ran into the forest and they met once more. Desperately again, with only a little more caution than the last time, they soon fell apart yet again.

 The broken dreamers learned from the pain and from each other, coming together and breaking apart again and again. She saw that the rest of the world was broken too, and he realized that it was alright to be broken.

 Their healing was awful, painful beyond imagining, yet their bond still remained, no matter how fragile at times. Somehow, despite the brokenness, they had become tied together into something new and whole. 


  

Trapped in the Past

  I'm constantly reminded of something I read in a book once, about getting trapped in the "land of If Only". It's so unbelievably easy to start thinking about past disappointments, and think, "If only this had happened instead" or, "If only that hadn't happened". It's like the past could have been some happy, carefree time "if only" something had or hadn't happened.

    But when you look back all the time, you can't move forward. The past has passed, it's fixed like that now and no amount of wishing and sighing is going to change it. What can change is the present and future, but you can't see the changes if you're still looking backwards.

  Besides, yearning for a past that will never happen only rots you inside, and that messes with your present and future too. One has to learn to say, "Yes, that happened, and I hate it, but now it's time for something new to happen". Take a deep breath, dry your tears and deal with your frustration in a constructive way.

    Of course some days are still going to be bad. and that's okay. Moving on takes time, sometimes a lot of time. It's all a process. But the first step is to notice when you fall into the trap of "if only", and to step away from that. To focus on the present and future.

Recreation In Progress

   I haven't written for awhile, and a lot has happened since I last posted something remotely meaningful. I had an entire summer of writing stories and then things got busy and I stopped writing. I stopped making movies. I didn't really read as much as I used to.
  Then stuff happened, and I was suddenly left completely empty inside, a mere shadow of who I used to be. A very tired and lost shadow. It was as though my entire being had been sucked out of me and the only thing left behind was a shell.
   So I began the quest of finding myself. It started out with jumbled, angry poetry that didn't even sound poetical. The poems were short, raw and bitter. Anger radiated from them. Words didn't even fit together properly, but the words had been locked away for so long that they all spilled out, quite jumbled.
   Days, weeks, two months later and I was still writing poetry, only poetry. But the words were beginning to flow again. Little rays of hope were beginning to sneak in among the bitter and angry creations. It became a game, "put in hope where you can". I still wasn't able to write short stories and planning a movie plot was out of the question.
  After a time, I began writing long, not planned out stories in my notebook. None of them got finished, but at least I was writing four or five pages worth of story. It was progress.
   Then my drama class and I filmed a movie, with which I had ideas for and helped plan. Though it was only a music video and there wasn't much plot, it was still something, and it meant a lot to me.
    So where am I now? Still writing lots of poetry, about to start some short stories (hopefully) and already working on a movie or two. Though I still don't feel like myself every day, I think pieces of myself have returned. But at the same time, I don't even want to be the same as before. I'm different now. Still myself, the old self, but also something new. Something hopeful. I am a Recreation, still in progress.

Journey

After being shattered,
torn apart inside,
A hole was carved out of me
and something in me died.

Our dreams, desires and hopes,
so young and plentiful,
All too quickly melted away
both of us feeling dismal.

The time that then came after,
so dark, unhopeful and bleak.
The Heart could see no light
the body soon became weak.

A living, moving corpse,
an empty, lonely shell.
The Soul would drift, unheard from,
locked in its' gloomy cell.

But life is so persistent,
and always will pull through.
Subtle, gentle rays of light
will once again shine true.

The pieces of self are gone,
and an emptiness remains.
Yet the dark thoughts drip away,
the soul no longer in chains.

So Self must be reborn,
clay in a Potter's hands.
Piece by piece, the hole is filled,
done so with multiple strands.

Recreated little wonder,
dance with Joy once more.
Let your dreams regain their wings,
and see what He has in store.