What if magic were real?
I'd see you from across the crowded room, your eye catching mine. We'd make our way to each other, anticipation putting a swiftness to our feet. We'd meet in the centre of the room, the multitude of bodies surrounding us suddenly invisible. Holding you in my arms, I'd kiss you, vehemently and fervently. Time would stop and the moment would last to our dying breath. I would never let you go, if magic were real.
We'd say hello to each other, youthful shyness finally overcome by a want to befriend. We'd grow up together, playing whenever together. We'd both find girlfriends and boyfriends over the years, none ever satisfying for long. We'd finish high school, moving on to college and time-consuming jobs. We'd grow closer despite a time-tested friendship. One fateful night, we'd stare into each other's eyes, realising this was more than mere friendship. We's finally be together, if magic were real.
I'd ask you out in a letter because I was too shy, and too afraid of rejection, to ask you in person. Answering your call would be the hardest thing I ever did. You'd be yourself, kindly accepting a date with me. We'd go out, me making a fool out of myself, you as elegant as ever. It would bloom into a long romance, a strong relationship that would last years in the very least. We'd grow old together, our love never fading for a moment, if magic were real.
If only magic were real.
Saturday 20 August 2011
Thursday 11 August 2011
Nostalgia
I've sunken into my end of your couch, you at the other, each of us nearly completely surrounded by pillows. The gray corduroy of the cushions is warmingly welcome. It's a comfortable position to be in.
As we sit there, vegging out to endless hours of CSI, I'm oblivious to one glaring fact. I'm happy here. Simply happy. I could stay here forever as long as you're here to keep me company, commenting occasionally on the terrible programming we're subjecting ourselves to.
But what we put on the television is of no consequence to the evening. In fact, the worse it is, the better time we have. For the tv is not the reason I spend so much time at your house, my dear friend. It is you. Your smile, your laugh, your company. Just you. You don't know the storm you helped me to weather by being you.
The hour is approaching 5 o'clock in the morning, and our eyes are heavy. I think you dozed off once or twice, refusing to send me home to sleep. We're still having too much fun. But I know you need your sleep, and I do too for that matter. I say goodbye, you give me one of your hugs (they always were the best) and I set off walking home, earbuds blasting something to keep me attentive in the dark.
Arriving home, I sneak past my dad getting up for work and climb silently into bed. No need for them to know what time I arrived home. As I lay my head on my pillow and sleep quickly descends, I can't help but smile. What a great night.
I awake, the smile on my face slowly disappearing as reality sets in. Just a dream. No. Not a dream. A memory. A fond recollection of a time that once was. A time that could have been hell, but was bliss because of her. She was laid back, honest to a fault and a frigging riot. She made the problems of my life melt away, for a few hours at least.
My smile returns. I'll always remember her. My friend.
As we sit there, vegging out to endless hours of CSI, I'm oblivious to one glaring fact. I'm happy here. Simply happy. I could stay here forever as long as you're here to keep me company, commenting occasionally on the terrible programming we're subjecting ourselves to.
But what we put on the television is of no consequence to the evening. In fact, the worse it is, the better time we have. For the tv is not the reason I spend so much time at your house, my dear friend. It is you. Your smile, your laugh, your company. Just you. You don't know the storm you helped me to weather by being you.
The hour is approaching 5 o'clock in the morning, and our eyes are heavy. I think you dozed off once or twice, refusing to send me home to sleep. We're still having too much fun. But I know you need your sleep, and I do too for that matter. I say goodbye, you give me one of your hugs (they always were the best) and I set off walking home, earbuds blasting something to keep me attentive in the dark.
Arriving home, I sneak past my dad getting up for work and climb silently into bed. No need for them to know what time I arrived home. As I lay my head on my pillow and sleep quickly descends, I can't help but smile. What a great night.
I awake, the smile on my face slowly disappearing as reality sets in. Just a dream. No. Not a dream. A memory. A fond recollection of a time that once was. A time that could have been hell, but was bliss because of her. She was laid back, honest to a fault and a frigging riot. She made the problems of my life melt away, for a few hours at least.
My smile returns. I'll always remember her. My friend.
Wednesday 10 August 2011
Clouds (Lightning Pt. 2)
Morning arrives and I get in my car and head home. It's been a long night. The sun is on its way up the sky, not too many clouds to block its light. I turn a corner and that's when I see it. A huge cloud formation, looming above the world.
I gape in amazement, barely keeping my car on the road. I pull off to the side and hit the four-ways. This is too incredible to ignore. I've always loved clouds, well, anything to do with the sky, really, and they still take my breath away. What a wonder.
They look like cumulus mediocris clouds if I'm not mistaken. Giant, puffy mountains floating above me, looking down at humanity. If I were them, I would be laughing at everyone else. They float across the sky, not a care in the world, save the choice of sending rain down to feed the earth.
But they do not laugh. They show no contempt for those stapled to the ground. Those who merely imitate their flight with roaring, metal machines, streaking through the sky, moving too fast to feel. They show no disdain of those who stare up at them, calling out the shapes the wind carves them into. They show nothing but their beauty, their simple radiance. They are something so simple, yet so complex. All made the same way, yet with countless variations. Simple elegance, masterful artwork.
I come back down to earth, signal and merge back onto the route home. An old longing has been stirred awake within me. The longing to soar above the clouds, to soar with the clouds. Free of machinery, free of man's aid. I long to coast the skies, nothing but me and the puffy, white mountains in the sky. While some longings may never be satisfied, I do not fret. Staring at God's signature in the sky, I am filled with more than a longing. I am filled with peace, with a pure, simple happiness nothing else on this earth can replicate. If God takes such care to create these clouds, what care does He take with me?
I am in God's hands.
I gape in amazement, barely keeping my car on the road. I pull off to the side and hit the four-ways. This is too incredible to ignore. I've always loved clouds, well, anything to do with the sky, really, and they still take my breath away. What a wonder.
They look like cumulus mediocris clouds if I'm not mistaken. Giant, puffy mountains floating above me, looking down at humanity. If I were them, I would be laughing at everyone else. They float across the sky, not a care in the world, save the choice of sending rain down to feed the earth.
But they do not laugh. They show no contempt for those stapled to the ground. Those who merely imitate their flight with roaring, metal machines, streaking through the sky, moving too fast to feel. They show no disdain of those who stare up at them, calling out the shapes the wind carves them into. They show nothing but their beauty, their simple radiance. They are something so simple, yet so complex. All made the same way, yet with countless variations. Simple elegance, masterful artwork.
I come back down to earth, signal and merge back onto the route home. An old longing has been stirred awake within me. The longing to soar above the clouds, to soar with the clouds. Free of machinery, free of man's aid. I long to coast the skies, nothing but me and the puffy, white mountains in the sky. While some longings may never be satisfied, I do not fret. Staring at God's signature in the sky, I am filled with more than a longing. I am filled with peace, with a pure, simple happiness nothing else on this earth can replicate. If God takes such care to create these clouds, what care does He take with me?
I am in God's hands.
Lightning
Standing in the middle of the silent parking lot, I stare into the night sky. Fascination secures my feet to the ground. I watch on as, in the distance, long bolts of lightning strike silently, over and over again. The surreal absense of sound and the light fog on the ground makes this a dream. It has to be.
Fingers of light stretch across the sky, reaching from cloud to cloud, never able to grasp what they appear to long for. What power is this? Watching the sky erupt before me, the true science of it far above my head, I feel so small. Were I to simply touch a single one of these tendrils of light, its power would overtake me and my existence on this earth would come to a close. Such power mere kilometres from our heads. My fascination only deepens.
But what of the author of this living artwork I stare at in the sky? What power does He possess? It's unfathomable. He created a plantet, an entire eco system that essentially runs itself. Millions of pieces in His puzzle work together, an ever changing tapestry of art and beauty and life. The largest puzzle in existence, it puts itself together as it pulls itself apart and rearanges itself back together again. A continuous cycle that will never end until He says so. I can only stand in awe and wonder and amazement.
A rain drop on my face snaps me back to reality. The clouds have slowly worked their way here as I stood here, lost in thought. I hightail it back inside as the rain starts to pour down on my head. My wonder at God's power is lost for a moment in my rush to stay dry, but whenever I look up into a storm, whenever lightning crawls its way across the sky, reaching for some unattainable goal, I will always be reminded of God's power.
If only the storm would not end.
Fingers of light stretch across the sky, reaching from cloud to cloud, never able to grasp what they appear to long for. What power is this? Watching the sky erupt before me, the true science of it far above my head, I feel so small. Were I to simply touch a single one of these tendrils of light, its power would overtake me and my existence on this earth would come to a close. Such power mere kilometres from our heads. My fascination only deepens.
But what of the author of this living artwork I stare at in the sky? What power does He possess? It's unfathomable. He created a plantet, an entire eco system that essentially runs itself. Millions of pieces in His puzzle work together, an ever changing tapestry of art and beauty and life. The largest puzzle in existence, it puts itself together as it pulls itself apart and rearanges itself back together again. A continuous cycle that will never end until He says so. I can only stand in awe and wonder and amazement.
A rain drop on my face snaps me back to reality. The clouds have slowly worked their way here as I stood here, lost in thought. I hightail it back inside as the rain starts to pour down on my head. My wonder at God's power is lost for a moment in my rush to stay dry, but whenever I look up into a storm, whenever lightning crawls its way across the sky, reaching for some unattainable goal, I will always be reminded of God's power.
If only the storm would not end.
Sunday 7 August 2011
Not Me Again (What A Surprise)
Why am I crying my eyes out right now? Because I'm not like them? What am I supposed to be? Something better than what I am, to be sure. "The Human Third Wheel." That's me. No matter what I do, I end up the awkward extra person in the group. Even today, with a group of four people, I was clearly the one no one really cared about. The one no one cared whether or not he existed. Unwanted and unloved, I couldn't help but retreat inwards, away from the voices talking around me.
Is it wrong to be hurt? They were trying to be nice, to be inclusive. But it was just so clear who each person had come out to see, and not one of them was me. I didn't know someone could feel so isolated even when surrounded by people, in the bustling epicentre of a major city, but there I was. A pathetic piece of shit.
So I empty my eyes sitting in the car in the driveway, wondering why I even bother. The same thing happens every time. Now it's almost 3 a.m. I should go inside. Tears or no, life goes on. No time to waste on pathetic little me.
Is it wrong to be hurt? They were trying to be nice, to be inclusive. But it was just so clear who each person had come out to see, and not one of them was me. I didn't know someone could feel so isolated even when surrounded by people, in the bustling epicentre of a major city, but there I was. A pathetic piece of shit.
So I empty my eyes sitting in the car in the driveway, wondering why I even bother. The same thing happens every time. Now it's almost 3 a.m. I should go inside. Tears or no, life goes on. No time to waste on pathetic little me.
Friday 5 August 2011
On My Own
This is a song from the musical, Les Miserables. I highly suggest you check it out if you haven't seen or heard it before. The original song is sung by a woman so I changed all the pronouns from masculine to feminine. These words could not mirror my own life better even if they were plucked from my head. It's kinda cool at the same time that it's utterly depressing. Anyway, I hope you enjoy.
And now I'm all alone again, no where to go, no one to turn to. And now the night is near, now I can make believe she's here. Sometimes I walk alone at night when everybody else is sleeping. I think of her and then I'm happy with the company I'm keeping. The city goes to bed and I can live inside my head.
On my own, pretending she's beside me.
All alone, I walk with her till morning.
Without her, I feel her arms around me and when I lose my way I close my eyes and she has found me.
In the rain the pavement shines like silver.
All the lights are misty in the river.
In the darkness the trees are full of starlight and all I see is her and me forever and forever.
And I know it's only in my mind, and I'm talking to myself and not to her.
And although I know that she is blind still I say there's a way for us.
I love her, but when the night is over she is gone. The river's just a river.
Without her, the world around me changes.
The trees are bare and everywhere the streets are full of strangers.
I love her, but everyday I'm learning all my life I've only been pretending.
Without me, her world will go on turning.
A world that's full of happiness that I have never known.
I love her.
I love her.
I love her, but only on my own.
And now I'm all alone again, no where to go, no one to turn to. And now the night is near, now I can make believe she's here. Sometimes I walk alone at night when everybody else is sleeping. I think of her and then I'm happy with the company I'm keeping. The city goes to bed and I can live inside my head.
On my own, pretending she's beside me.
All alone, I walk with her till morning.
Without her, I feel her arms around me and when I lose my way I close my eyes and she has found me.
In the rain the pavement shines like silver.
All the lights are misty in the river.
In the darkness the trees are full of starlight and all I see is her and me forever and forever.
And I know it's only in my mind, and I'm talking to myself and not to her.
And although I know that she is blind still I say there's a way for us.
I love her, but when the night is over she is gone. The river's just a river.
Without her, the world around me changes.
The trees are bare and everywhere the streets are full of strangers.
I love her, but everyday I'm learning all my life I've only been pretending.
Without me, her world will go on turning.
A world that's full of happiness that I have never known.
I love her.
I love her.
I love her, but only on my own.
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