Sacrilege

I stood up so quickly that I was bound to fall. He had the kindest eyes, a brilliant shade of ever-changing shade of blue-green that shined in the sun and a soft subtle blue grey that melted at the edges of his irises as his pupil dilates. In the absence of light or perhaps in the presence of love. He had soft creases framing the edges of his face and they formed soft curves that shined whenever he smiled. He was melted, forged by years of substance abuse but who was I to judge really? Aren't we all bound by some toxic nature that seeks to self destruct our own selves.

I should have known that when he fell, I would too. He was on the edge and perceptive and my feet were not planted. I dismissed mere notions until words formed my very thoughts. He cried and begged. Like a fool. I fell. I am ever so the sand that lays to waste in the wind. He could blow me away and I would still get in his eye. How odd, to have fallen so low. I once took such strong stances against such matters of betrayal and yet, how people change. You would think the soul hardens as it ages but perhaps we have been so dismissive of the powerful nature of age itself. Perhaps it fades your edges instead of hardening your stone of a heart.

Oddly, I seem to have found myself in the very cycle I chose to avoid. I chose to stand down, to kneel where I would have stood and turned. My body has betrayed me ever so easily and so has my heart. How fragile these thoughts are. They cycle through my mind, never leaving me alone in my own solitude. This knife, it constantly shreds my mind, making me question everything. My morals, my shame and my weaknesses. I have seen too much and been hurt too often and that has left me with too much of a heart. Or perhaps, more accurately, a loss in my senses and in my mind's ability to rationalise.

He lingers in my sheets, on my clothes, my body and my soul. I am nothing really, perhaps a shadow cast in the light. A silhouette that dances in the flames and fades. I read and I acquire such knowledge, opinions and thoughts. And yet, these words mean nothing to a broken heart. I wish I was stronger. I wish I had feet that would stay planted on the ground. I wish my mind did not break so easily. I wish that my hands would stop shaking from these tremors. I wish that the nicotine would stop staining my mind. I wish that these toxic nectars would not entice me as such.

And yet, I continue to wish and am unable to move. Or unwilling, really. I found someone who has found himself in me and I am entrenched. Everyone had a favourite colour. He didn't. And that was when I knew I had to colour him with all the paint I had left in me. His skin was tinged with alabaster, his hair tainted with hints of golden brown, his lips softened pink. How could I, so plain, see such colours everywhere? I am out of this world, for I am tired. Tired of feeling, of seeing, of existing. And so I choose, I choose to simply be. To waver in the face of the wind like the soft wavy grass that sways upon the merest touch.

I have never felt such emotions really. I have never seen a future nor have I ever seen such a sad end. For here I was, running against my principles and wavering against my faith. I. who have been known to have stood up against the wind, am now meek, shallow, useless really. A despondent trapped being in my own stream of vicious consciousness that taunts me. I am alive but barely here, playing a soft lover's game with Death himself. As I write this, my heart has left in shame and my mind has chosen to play against me. For I am truly nothing, here, right now in this moment.