A point.
A line.
A reason?
Drawn in the sand, daring me to cross. Begging me to be a man, a real man.
Not just a correlation of thoughts, seemingly empty promises and ideas which will never be.
Reaching out beyond my means, but well within my dreams and desires,
crying out in pain at the memory of belief in someone, anyone who said they possessed what I want.
Belief that they tied to convince me of, that I in my naivite (sic) ,continue to have faith in.
A dream.
A hope.
A choice?
Who needs to hie behind the words of others, implying their oen aren’t what matters?
Not just a way of communicating, endlessly trying to suggest their frienship is worth forgetting their brilliance,
that love shared can be shrugged off simply because it is inconvenient now time has moved on.
Ironic beyond rational understanding, unless it was merely a ruse. Subterfuge on a scale immense to one,
lesser to the other. Truth which belies experiences of a life conveyed?
A meaning.
A passion.
A pretence?
It is a hard thing to accept, to know that you are not worthy of someone else.
That they truly believe they are deserved of things, ideals perhaps, which you are incapable of.
When the things they claim are now seen as lies…..
When you spell it out, you explain what you want and they pretend that description, that who they are
is a perfect match to the dreams you have. The hopes live and breathe, as you fall in love.
As you open yourself to their heart, needing to share, to know they feel as you do.
A cruelty.
A novelty.
A pastime?
Sitting and being their rock, bleeding for them as their own heart spills open for you to see.
Not judging, never wanting more than the time allows.
Revelling in the contact, the physicality, as they lie their way into the places you felt we hidden for all time.
Tears flowing, knowing it has gone, or should have been kept virtual. A virtual world in whidh there is no pain.
But in which there is no richness, no reality. Happiness coming more from the fantasy than what was real.
Maybe that’s it, have I reached the absolute truth?
A fantasy.
A means.
A rock?
I doubt I will ever be able to laugh again, at least not in a way that echoes my soul.
It ust remain secure, hidden, wrapped in a layer of ‘perhaps, and could be’s’,
a gaol of circumstance, whose walls and chains are more real than the empty words that love shouldn’t have flowed from.
Even if, when you define what reality is, it just exists within my shell, my sinews wrapped around.
My wrists seem inviting, a means to end a pain which should never have been,
a courtesy to the devil, letting him know before i draw steel across skin.
To spite the lies, or to cry out to all those who have never listened before. Who said they would, but didn’t.
Wll they feel any shame, or would they know? No, of course not. ‘We’ never were, so ‘we’ won’t be told.
A charity.
A peasant.
A simpleton?
Perhaps I should just realise my ideal will never match my appeal.
That this world will only give the many to the few,
those who rarely deserve who they have, who know that what they lose will be replaced.
Leaving who is left to fight for scraps which could be all they need,
who seem to want so little, but who then expect so very much.
It would be hilarious, if they didn’t leave heartbreak wherever their shadow fell.
A thought.
A need.
A failure.
Ultimately, it is comes down to a simple fact.
One I’ve come to see as a realt truth, something that cannot be disputed or challenged.
"People are only as honest as their experience allows them to be".
I just wish those who claim to have experienced both good and bad in life realise the beauty in the little things that present themselves.
From what I have seen in those I have shared myself with, it is a hope that is unlikely to come true.
Yet while it is one I still believe can happen, my heart will be a victim.
Of hope, and the ‘honesty’ of those I desperately need to believe in, as they come………
and inevitably choose to go.
It is such an irony when a friend knows me more, than someone who claims to want me…. knows themself….
Steve B 12/08