So like I dunno what to even say man
my feelings are like. Omg. So I'mma just. Write a story about it instead yeah?
YES I KNOW THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE A JOURNAL but aren't those about feelings so yes feelings they will be. Oops. I just how do express self and words????
They knew pain. They knew loneliness, and fear, and sadness and love. They knew them all too well.
They knew the burning pit that was left within sorrowful holes in the soul, and the rivers of inky emptiness that the pits punched through left behind. They knew of the blinding, tongue-eating monster of loneliness, that filled the belly with dread and the shreds of heart with the marrow of deceptive cries for gardens reaped of corpses. They knew the grief of loss and pain of fear that bit at the heels of anxiety, devouring the soul from the inside out, welling over in hot burning bitterness within the eyes, trailing scars of misery in tracks down already stained cheeks. They knew the struggle of being upon the strings of the marionette, held up by nothing but the whims of those that used them into oblivion. To be torn apart piece and joint, bit by bit, until there was nothing left but broken blood-rusted hinges and empty aches stinging in pulses that made every breath painful, every glance and touch a flinch and a resigned acceptance to that which happened to them, the loss of spark, of any feeling at all that was a positive influence- the expectation of nothing but their use coming into being the device of another's growth.
They knew the distinct sweet pain of love, as well. The dangerous thudding of a heart struggling to hold itself up as is attempting to beat for another as well, thinking of nothing but goodness, nothing but the soft flutter that came with every breath, the furtive tenderness of a bitten lip, of sideways glances and nervous flustered giggles under well-hidden flirts. They knew the feeling of how it was to have it completely ripped out from under them, as well, as if falling into an endless pit of fear and pain that no amount of scrabbling under broken bloody fingers could gain purchase on.
The struggle of holding themselves up was not a new one. They had for as long as they could remember. The one support holding up the rest, the weight of Atlas strong upon their shoulders- not just the fate of one but the fate of all they walked with. They knew the feeling of not having that same support in the end, for a simple lean to it would crumble it out from under uneasy hesitant steps. They knew not the weight of easy childhood or the carefree steps of one finding themselves. They knew the yoke, they knew the work of keeping everyone together. They didn't know what it was to have an infallible support.
But they learned. Slowly through pain and fear.
The first a whirlwind romance, laughter and amusement crashing headlong into a chasm of passion and ambition, no strength behind it. Of hushed amorous words and gallant rowdy storytelling like that of a drunken bard at a tavern inn. It ended in the protagonist (or is it the victim?) of this story being swept off their feet by another and all that the whirlwind had been- becoming just that. Dusted away in a whirlwind, forgotten and unimportant.
The second was careful and quiet. Kindred spirits under duress and pain of others and their own lives coming together in a clash brought by the third. A friendship sparking over late night trivialities and jokes and life uncertainties, that delved into the unknown in intelligent curiosity. And sure enough the frail worry of heart beat into something more. In the end this was one of the biggest crushing blows. The sickening crunch of cheerful days within groups of friends coming to a disgraceful end when the abandonment of one for the other- of the all, for the other- became nigh. When the soul felt bullets of fear and weakness pierce it permanently, leaving permanent fears, permanent scars and retributions. And then the third, whom had been a close and beloved partner for so long, came to turn away coldly. When the only support that had not utterly collapsed found itself cracking, and in a painful, defeatist manner, fell apart to nothing but weak structure of poorly lain pebbles and dust.
The toxicity pierced the heart, and festered in foul seed. It grew to paranoia and anger, to bitterness and mistrust. To the piercing phobia of abandonment. Of what was left...not being good enough. Not being worthy or heart enough. Unwanted and strangling in its own grasp, locked behind steel doors of wounded spire-bound cages, unable to be touched in its self-harming brambled grasp.
It grew into a fearful monster- a wounded animal left to brandish its weakened defense in the terror of another's companionship, tail tucked between legs, fangs brandished.
But once a pup, always a pup. Always a naive creature that would sooner be hurt by the hand extended it than to snap at it in its fear of others. And it trusted- too painfully much. This friend handed to it seemed all pretty ribbon tied up in a kind bow. This was not the case. This monster was in human skin and wore as many masks as its victim did- but these masks were not used to hide its pain from others, but to use to further its malicious intent. It came with gentle plying and promises of giving them love, and the affection and care that none had- the gentle touch and elegant sweeps of attention and laughter and the delicately balanced charade of both fun and calm.
This was not to be the case.
Friendship and constant companionship, basking in the glow and warmth that it brought to a weary soul soon turned to a hellish nightmare with no escape. It became twisted words and warped reason which slunk under the skin and began to gnaw away at the tendrils of the heartstrings. An entrapping cage that sunk into the skin and the soul and tore it to tatters with every failing, weakening attempt, to reach an arm out and whimper for help. And eventually all there was to do was to fall limply, subservient into the monster's hand, because the pain of that was less than the pain of fighting and struggling to pick themselves up.
When the battle was over and the war was lost- when the monster had lost its interest in its plaything and moved on, the victim fell to their knees upon the ground, shaking, gulping down their heart bleeding out their eyes in red hot tears. They were less human at this point than a ruined marionette, a puppet who had been abused so badly that there wasn't anything much left to be recognizable as whole.
What had started as a young, youthful and whole heart, brimming with energy and vigor, was now barely an existent entity. It was in pieces, and not many were left, and they dripped with the thick black ichor of innocence lost and bitterness and hollow pain gained. It shuddered under its own weight, far too large both a burden and weight to bear any longer, and it remained true even as the organ was in a small fragile glass jar of shattered pieces. It was a mangle of a beaten organ that struggled to hold its host up with faltering, shuddering coughs of beats, cracking just a little more with what was left for each beat pushed through.
There wasn't much left of a soul either, but for something that resembled a cloak that had been worn for far too long through too many gunfights, riddled with bullet-holes and tears, threadbare to the point of threatening to falling apart at any moment. Something unsalvageable. Truly they were not a soul that at this point, could be fixed or repaired. They were broken. Broken beyond fixing.
And it took a long time to push past those weaknesses- and even then they never healed and never really were able to be pushed past. A marionette was still a marionette no matter how one looked upon it. The cracked, shattered cogs and gears that made it work were non-functional, each shaft and joint pushed out of shape into unrecognizable caricatures. Too many masks lay on the ground cracked and unusable to hide behind any longer, and the creature left standing was so full of holes and pain it was almost impossible to say the figure was human. It was so hard to tell that this thing was moving, functioning on its own, without the strings snapped to control it, brought to attention.
And then it met them.
A chance meeting. Maybe it was fate for once taking pity upon a soul or two. From a friend pulled together, the two met. And what one saw in the other, they saw in themselves. Pain and fear of rejection and abandonment, of the bitter struggle that was the heart and forevermore would be the heart. The same tattered holes, in the same threadbare barren openness. Each was unique yes.... but each story nonetheless, was similar to the others and spoke volumes in such experience they shared. Kindred hearts hidden off from one another by temptive furtive pain.
But one small hesitant talk became two. Became a small armada of quiet hidden laughter and hesitant reaction. One small faked smile became two even smaller genuine ones. One hundred fears became fifty, and fifty slowly dwindled into twenty. One question meanwhile became five and ten. And one bond went from guarded hurt strangers to unlikely companions.
They were missing puzzle pieces. Ones with not much of a jigsaw left, who's edges were frayed from tattered misuse and abuse, from being forced into patterns that did not fit until pieces fell away into oblivion, lost in the mire of shaky footing. But they fit together seamlessly like two lost lovers in a ballroom of disillusion, the light to the dark, the guide to the lost and the happy ground to the mind flowing away. They completed a piece of each other thought broken and lost forever.
Mates, partners, friends, companions. They took it slow. They were careful and gentle and steady. They respected boundaries and did not push one another past them, rather protecting from. They accepted readily each part of one another, and did not mock, did not hurt, but loved that piece. They saw the wounds in one another and murmured softly "I will soften the chasm with my love." Inseparable. Loyal, fiercely, ragged and content. They take care of each other....they sooth away the bad and fill what voids were irreparably dealt with new branches of hope. Picking away, they gently pulled the brambles and steel cages from one another, and together were set free.
And it was love. Honest. True. Unadulterated love. Unconditional and filled with nothing but the warmest intentions of two souls damaged almost beyond comprehension.
Listening to: But