world of memories.

last words. a world of memories.
They may be to a mother, the day before you leave home, a lover before you grow courage to run away, or a friend, after one day they weren't there.
Last words, they are unpredicted...the only thing sure about them is the act of separation.
the preoccupation with a sense of pain.
And the afterthoughts, that loom....tossed in the air..
People try to  escape to things to soothe the ache - writing, drawing, painting talking...
Is there any other pain; than true genuine love, suddenly being demolished...something out of oblivion,
who knew words could be so venomous.
all they do is leave you trapped in a moment...
i guess, as the reciprocate we can only ask to be remembered well,
while we remain, reminded of the words on your last day.

Drowning in pillows.

They were so unreliable.
An idea that had formed,
a force that could not be trusted; because they came with the wind, walked in their dance, and then just like that, they bid farwell.
They floated with the clouds, they swelled from evaporation. Somehow they pulled at something we had no control over.
 A thing that has could not be based on a solid definition.
Manifested inside us, in a place unspoken.
Somewhere we couldn't touch, it scratched under the skin.
No light could get through, it was a paradox of cavities.
It made one do foolish things, it altered the colours in our mind;mixed with them like paint; yellow and orange: to make brown.
It always started bright, and then they mixed and darkened...A place one had no control over.
It was a  ribbon in the wind....unreliable.
There was one thing that could be done for temporarily relief from its' grief.
To give it no time no space, no moment. To not allow it to grow and swell, and burst all over again, you just always had to keep your mind busy, proactive.
But it was hard, a business that was tricky, it lined the realm of quiet refelction.
If you sat alone, it ate lunch with you, it curled into a song, that wasn't just a song, that came with something you had once know, it was an avalanche of something with no grounding.
Something that had a million different names, beautifully, simple, complex, it was compelling.
I couldn't relie on them anymore.
A gift or a bomb that could just dissapear, or implode.
It was open to kindness, it took many forms,twined in our memories, haunting before sleep, when the winter was cold, when the spring would blossom.
It was distant, and it was so close, like the stars at nightime, wrapped in the mystery of velvet.
It  had no voice. It was silent.
It was changing, and hauntingly painful...from a place deep inside, manifested beyond reach.
It was everything we wanted to make sense, it was something we wanted to erase.
It boiled and melted, it was a fundamental for human...but it was something not to be trusted...
It was simply feelings.

Old feelings.

His lips were soundless but he spoke with gestures. The man was thin, with hair neatly combed and parted. It was blonde, the colour of soft sunlight that only the afternoon brings. He had blue eyes, clear and direct that opened wide to reveal his black pupils. His gaze was intense, and one could almost feel his complexities. His head was titled forward in the way, one leans to hear a secret. Dressed in a light blue collared shirt,  it made his complexion seem pale. He stood with his hand curved around his mouth; as though he was frightened of the words that may slip, or perhaps he had heard something, that had taken the breath from him, and he could not yet comprehend, he simply needed a moment to think. The wrinkles in his brow exaggerated all the lines in his face. He stared into a vague space, somewhere that was unreachable to people. There were too many feelings to comprehend; each examined alone could be magnified and continue to fascinate.

On the surface.

On the bus there is a buzz, the echo of a song pulsing through headphones.
I stare outside the window, scenary rushes past me, and i am fascinated at how many shades of green there are.
In the city, tall skyscrapers cut into the sky there is no rough, jagged outlinings.
No - the picture is perfect - almost like a painting, the brush marks are flawless.
The  the sky is like water, it slips into place too quick for us human eyes to see.
The atmosphere is tense, maybe pleasant, staccato, or anxious....I'm not sure...I haven't yet decided.
Though all the people are sitting with their heads down, listening to music, or closing their eyes.
I am cross examining them.
On my left, a row down - diagonally, is a girl who holds in her lap uni books.
She rests her head on the window. Her eyelids are closed, but flutter vivdly with the bumps, i wonder if she is dreaming, or if she sleeps to pass the time, or maybe she is highly academic, demands nothing but the best, studies whenever she can, and only rests on the bus.
She looks peaceful.
In front of me is a girl standing up.
Maybe 16, or 17 who wear torn jeans and a black t-shirt.
 She taps her feet, drums her fingers and at every stop stares at her watch.
She has eyes, that are crystals, that are the colour of figi's blue ocean, the blue in a peacocks tail, a blue that comes in the perfect biro, a blue that somehow is electic.
I watch her, as the bus mocks her, stopping with each persons hail, and i can feel the tension thick as a rope in her, her knee starts to twist a little....her fingers drum faster.
Stacato.
In my peripheral vision, is a boy that sits lonely.
He seems vague, with a vulnerablity that makes he seem full with eager.
The girl he likes is the anxious one, with electric eyes.
He looks in her direction, from time to time...
Quickly, quietened, embarrased when she catches his gaze.
Fear wraps around him and the sting of her eyes, makes him look away...but when she is not looking, when is looking ahead to see how far they are until her destination.
I watch the way, he head lifts a little to admire her beauty, and love her quirkly movements.
He is shy. Too shy. Almost invisible.
They all sit, on a simple bus the rhythm of wheels is the tempo to their beat.
A sudden stop, and it makes them wake, a snap out of their trance of hypnotism.
On the bus, i have no music so instead i watch the people, all complex with personalites and dimension.
I look outside, at the pure bliss of nature, and examine the people, how they appear on the surface.

stopping.

I was walking and wondering about the sudden silence surrounding stopping.
Envisage yourself on a mission...your feet quickly shuffling, your steps start rushing, your eyes are narrowed to the place you need to go.
When out of the blue, like raindrops in summer. You suddenly stopped.
Your silenced in your tracks.

It is so unexpected, but just like that one thing can change the tempo you had going.
 Your walking like your on a mission; like a climber absailing a mountain, you have in mind the place you need to go; you quicken your pace, hastily looking at the time.

Whatever the thing is that can stop you in your tracks; it sure controls something in you, it has a way of tunneling to a place you cannot touch, it flicks a spark, and just like that you stop.
I was marching my path i take every day, when all of a sudden, just like that,, i stopped.
In my chemical buildup, chocolate is what makes my fuse box kick in.
When i see it, something inside me explodes; electricity in my blood runs faster; all senses are clouded, i forget where i am.

For me a  cute chocolate boutique is what stops me dead in my tracks.
There has never been a piece of chocolate that has in the least dissapointed me.
Chocolate, It is soundless; it doesn't even have a face, but if has a way of letting my worries dissaper for a little while, slip and melt away.

The smell of chocolate ignites a river in my mind, it flows and laces through my veins, my eyes bludge huge;
i can't be contained.
In a chocolate store, they are all decorated, roasted, dusted, dunked in grounded cocoa beans, milk, caramel, anything you like, you just ask, and they'll have it!
After, a couple of minutes...or an hour, i can finally but against my will leave.
I buy a little chocolate to carry on my mission with me.
Back on my journey, i walk contemplating....about the forbidden secret is to stopping.

for the love of music.

music, was all the words i could not speak.
It was anxiety, and happiness, the pulse of my heart beat, the wishing of everything.
I closed my eyes and swayed.
In the stillness of the room, i felt the music, slide under my skin, into emotional memory.
It was simply, and mysterious.
Elegant and elusive.
How was it, that melodoy could make a connection, a pathway into my mind.
It drifted in and out of dreams and possiblities,
and ecliped a darker side, a part that of me only i knew, but somehow music had managed to find out.
Secretly, it was thrilling.
With the last chord, i took a deep breath.
Opened my eyes, and applauded with the crowd.