Two pieces, one soul

He promised himself, long ago, that he would only take the bare minimum of what he needed. He would not, could not, and deplored the idea of taking more than was necessary to survive. For the vast majority of his existence, he stood by this principle, leaching only enough from the few he cared to bleed so as to survive. It worked for all involved . . . he was whole, and they were, well, mostly the same. Then she came along and all control was lost.


At what point does the consumption of ones soul become disastrous? When is the breaking point crossed, with no hope of return? Is it the moment where you look in the mirror and see a reflection that you can no longer comprehend, understand, or look at? Is it then, where the you, the one you nourished, babied, and built from the ground up, in shambles, for good? Is that a negative, or the necessary evolution of a flawed species? Should I worry that I do not see myself absent her?

The Funeral

I found this written on my phone; I wrote it while sitting on a plane a few months back:

As the world closes in around, and the nights grow increasingly grizzly, the beauty in the moment wrestled is not lost on his soul. For a brief flash, he enjoyed the freedom that he once thought would be his everyday

Vision

I am a runner. I am blind without corrective measures. Why I would decide to do the former with out the latter is beyond me. I, however, being the brain dead moron I often am, decided it would be a fantastic idea to go for a jaunt with out my contacts or glasses. It did not go well.

I should have known the end result when I noticed that the lights in the distance looked like fireworks exploding in the night. I pushed on. I never saw the curb end, but I sure did feel it. I recovered from my stumble with only a few choice words and staggered on. I have no clue where the cement post came from, I have never seen it before, and am convinced that it was erected today. I thought of turning back, but I am Irish, so I refused to accept the obvious, and continued. The last straw came when I ran down a smallish woman who tried, in a moment of shocking realization, to dodge left. . . .that was my reaction as well.

I am a runner. I am blind without corrective measures. I know now that I cannot skip the latter while doing the former.

Silence

I am afraid to write the Story because I do not know what emotions will be set free and what that will do to me.

Listening to The Cure, Disintegration and The Clash, The Clash (UK release).

Sunday Scribblings (Flashback)

This week's word is Flashback:

I was drawn to her unpretentious, yet careful, attire, the smirk that shot across her face when she thought others were not paying attention, and the manner in which she held her beauty. She was the most inviting woman I had ever laid eyes on, and there had been many. This one, unlike those before, did not stir my sexual response as much as light my mind on fire. I longed to hear her story, and for her to hear mine. Her presence made me love both myself and the future.

The normal me would sit back, hope, and wait . . . if it was meant to be, it would. I was keenly aware, however, that if I did not act, and do so right then, she would drift in and out of my days many feet from me, with only a smile here and there to keep me going, until she was gone. That was not an option. Therefore, I attacked the situation, inserted myself into her path, and refused to be absent, for even a moment. I knew that failure would dent my delicate psyche, and an arrest for stalking would do the same to my career, but I was going to get her to notice me. I felt that with that much, I could do anything.

Once I got her ear—a much easier task than I had anticipated—I took full advantage, and told her every good thing about myself, with just enough bad sprinkled in to keep me honest. I talked a lot and made a complete fool of myself. But she laughed, assured me that I was fine, and disclosed her most intimate secrets. With some reluctance, a serious talk or two, persistence, and time, she accepted what I was offering. We embarked on a romance that proved to this lost soul that love is real, painful, and exhilarating.