Toodle-oo!
Today marks the third anniversary of our first encounter, and how fitting that this should also be our last. Looking back at this past year, it should come as no surprise. This playground where I’d come to escape has been with me to places both wonderful and unpleasant. It is a playground of happiness and sorrow that has, alas, outlived its usefulness.
It will continue to exist in its present form for some time to come, I see no reason for it to be torn down. It will just be abandoned. For its own good, too.
Toodle-oo!
And Soon Not Even That
I knew then that it would end, that that was it; the last one I’d ever see. There was no cause for celebration, only mourning for who I was right then, for I’d not be there for much longer. I was on this world, but not of it; and soon not even that.
I’d realized that my demise was imminent and I’d accepted it. No more self-deception.
A Place of Ruin
“My playground,” I’d once say. A place to let loose, be free and play. A place where I’d go to see the colors extinct from my own life, to cry away the clouds and just spill my heart and soul.
A place of ruin and decay.
Postpone
It scares me deeply, the thought of it. Let me hold on to this nothingness for a while longer, for once gone, I will never live it again.
It scares me deeply, the thought of living in the real world.
No Sooner
The truth is you’re alone; you’re up there standing all alone. There’s no one there with you, no one to hold your hand. There is no comforting companion, it’s just you on that ledge, you and everything that brought you there: your regrets, your wrongdoings, your hopes and dreams, everything you’d hoped your life would be, the picture of who you dreamed of being, the disappointments of everyday life, the let-downs from everyone around you, “you wouldn’t be there to help me,” “you’re selfish,” “you’re a disappointment,” “you can’t do anything,” “you don’t care at all,” “you’re so full of yourself.” It’s all right there with you. A thousand voices, screaming at you over the noise of all the times you’ve ever thought about killing yourself and how you smiled beneath the tears just feeling so happy about the thought of dying and all the voices stopping and the silence and the nothingness, just the nothingness, complete darkness, an end once and for all. You’re standing there alone, as broken as you’ve ever been, in equal parts sad and angry, shouting at the sky and covering your ears. Death can come no sooner. Sweet death.
Do My Lips Speak of the Happiness They Find on Yours?
Can you hear my mind through the silence in-between the songs? Can you hear the poems in the back of my head, or the love my synapses sing whenever I turn to look at you? Do my fingers speak of how they would stroke your hair and glide along your cheekbone? Do my eyes project onto yours the same images I see? Images of us on our backs, holding hands, looking out for falling stars.
Do my lips speak of the happiness they find on yours?
Year Two
Today is a special day here at Clueless Headquarters: it marks the second year anniversary of Dunno.
A blog I have on more than one occasion referred to as a playground for my mind, Dunno still fulfills a need which, like I said last year, I have yet to fully understand. Though the darker tone of some more recent posts may make it harder to call it a playground, I will continue to see it as one, nonetheless. All the other kids may be afraid to come near it, but I don’t care, more for me. Suckers! Yeah, that’s right! Run away, I don’t need you! I’ll be just fine here, by myself. All alone…
Anyway, as I was saying… What was I saying? Yeah, happy birthday to Dunno! I’m having so much fun! [shouts] You don’t know what you’re missing!
…
*sigh*
The Gallery of Me
