Standing At The Edge of The Earth

I haven't heard from you in months. But you follow me like a ghost, every minute of the day, every second of the night. I see your smile in the reflections of sunlight in the windows, I see the sparkle of your eyes in the dew drops on the leaves. I hear your heart-felt laughter like an endless echo in my brain.

Never in my life have I had to face the fact that I have been so, so wrong about myself. On paper, there is no reason for you to speak to me anymore, no reason for me to think of you anymore. On paper, we're just two people who wanted different things, and we should just move on with our lives. Someone new will come along, surely.

But you and I are not living on a sheet of paper.

I know I let you down. I cannot expect you to overlook that. You needed your space, you needed time. You needed to find someone who can give you all the things I could not.

But it's been months since you've been gone. And now I see, that you were everything.

Today I read your letter. I normally don't have the strength to do so, but today I finally pried it open, gently, reverently. I read it through, folded it, and lifted it to my lips to kiss it, perhaps in the vain hope I would be able to smell your skin once more, but the only fragrance is the dull, pungent smell of time.

I wonder where you are. I wonder if you think of my anymore. I wonder if perhaps in time, you will be able to look back at what we had without the feeling of betrayal and disappointment. I wonder if you will ever think, "he was a good man, maybe I should call him."

I wonder if I will ever be able to let go if you choose not to make that call.

Crushed

I was hoping I wouldn't have to write here again. But Matches Malone never truly goes away.


I haven't spent much time in Park Row of late, because I was trying to reach for the light and trying to rebuild this mess of a life. It has not been easy, but with every step that I clawed my way forward, I could feel myself getting stronger. There were obstacles but I said fuck that, I am going to stand tall and let the cards fall how they may.


It went well for a while, so much so that when someone reached out to me for help, I reached out as well, despite my better judgement. I listened, I sympathised, I comforted, I consoled, I cared.


But it only takes one word from you to tear me down. I am the strongest man in the eyes of my peers. I am honest, I am constant, I am undeterred, I am, of all things, light in a dark world. But one word from you, and I am crushed.


Stubborn determination that is mistaken for strength, is not strength at all.

Hate Me

I don't want to be me anymore.

I just want to be like everyone else. I want to look like everyone else, dress like them and speak the same way they do. I want to be just part of the crowd, conveniently invisible. I don't want to stand out, stand apart or stand alone anymore. I want to have the same views, the same morals, the same ideals. I want to listen to the same songs and dance to the same beats, so that i'm always in tune with everyone else. I want to hate the same people, and have the same vices so I can be hated by the same people and be buried with the same people, at the same time. I don't want to be alone, I don't want to stand up for myself. Even if did, I want to stand up for what everyone else believes.

I want to be like everyone else. I can't stand to be myself anymore.

Laugh While You're Dying

... you thought I had disappeared, didn't you?...

There are some days which are harder than the others. Make no mistake, I know that life is tough. But some days, they take your breath away. Not in the good, romantic, cliche rom-com way, but in the gut-wrenching, merciless hand of death kind of way.

It leaves you just gasping for air, your lungs suddenly collapsed, unable to fill your body with what it needs. You are effectively drowning in a vaccuum.

That is me right now. Tired as hell, and suddenly I hit a road block and I can't climb anymore. I stop, bend down with my hands on my knees and I just take in as much air as my lungs can find. My oxygen-starved brain is almost completely numb, and yet it manages to get one signal through.

And I start to laugh.

I laugh at the harshness of the situation, the stark unrelenting truth of circumstance. I laugh at fate's cruelty, and my futile attempts at succesful living. I laugh at the injustices that surround me, and my inability to wrap my head around any of them.

And I laugh.


If this life kills me, I will die laughing.

Return To The Scene Of The Crime

I do not enjoy my return trips to Park Row. But I understand them.

I wonder if anyone is curious about ‘Park Row’. Park Row is a silent, empty and desolate place. There are not many people here, but those that are here keep to themselves.

Park Row is the place that changed my life. For the better or for the worse, time alone will tell.

As I said earlier, I do not enjoy returning to Park Row, especially since I do not spend all my time here. I have my ‘good days’, days where I allow the sun to shine through once in a while. Days where I can enjoy myself a little bit, and almost forget about this side of town.

But I always return. Either I am forced, or I am drawn back.

I think it’s important to remember your past, remember the heartbreak, the wounds, the scars, the fights, the wars – which is why I always return here. I stand on that corner, looking down the street again, and I pay my respects.

I don’t enjoy returning here. But I understand it.

Brick By Brick

What do you do when she's dreaming of someone else?

When her thoughts of fondness no longer revolve around you? When she yearns for a better time and place, a time and place that you were not a part of?

What do you say when you can't return but you can't bear to be replaced?

It is a poisonous pill, one that I have swallowed before. The bitterness, now washed away by love, time and reconciliation, is not easy to forget.

I am much too fair in my dealings with the fairer sex. Much to lenient, much to caring. Being selfish has its perks.

So let me ask you again; what do you do when she picks up the phone to call you for movies, but calls someone else for her problems?

What do you do when she laughs a little less heartily around you than when she's around another?

What do you do when you have done your best to be immovable, dependable, constant - and yet, all you have done is become emotionless, defiant, and cold?

Brick by brick I let you gently bring my walls down.

Brick by brick you build them back up around me now.

Brick by brick I return to the shadows that are my home.

Relentless

Things have been rather colder and perhaps even more darker on Park Row of late.

I warm my hands, and reach into my coat for my light. A sudden draft kicks against me, just as I spin the wheel of the lighter. The cigarette catches anyway, and I let the flame dance for a second longer than necessary. The cold is not new to me, but its constant presence is never something one can ever be fully accustomed to. It is a like a disease; manageable, and yet deadly.

The embers are a poor source of light, yet my eyes have adjusted enough to read the dial on my wrist. It's almost time.

I look up suddenly, as a subtle movement in the shadows catches my attention. When everything is still, the slightest move is like a gunshot in a tomb.

I lie still, pressing myself against the wall, fingering the peeling plaster of a dilapidated building behind me as my eyes scan the darkness. Tense; I feel my chest harden as my breathing automatically slows and softens.

I wait.

And I wait.

The cigarette has long been extinguished, and there is total darkness now as my eyes scan the shadows.

Something is there. I can feel it.

They say patience is a virtue. This isn't patience though. This is being relentless. This is survival.

Slowly my limbs show the first signs of going numb. I don't move.

A chill breeze picks up, cutting through my clothes like a knife. Still, I don't move, for I feel a much deeper chill that is threatening to run down my spine.

"I will outlast you"; I think to myself.

And then -

I see it.

Slowly, it moves up the alley opposite with surprising stealth, almost floating along, not leaving a sound. If I hadn't been looking straight at it, I may not have seen it.

"But I was looking for you, you bastard"; I tell myself.

I feel the tinges of a smile spread across my lips.

"I've got you now."

---

Just a graphical representation of my state of mind at the moment. Make of it what you will.