Not so Sincerely, An Old Friend

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Dear Silence,

There are not enough words in the dictionary to describe how much I despise you, so I will refrain from boring you with my trying to find a way to describe it. I will, however, describe what you do to my mind. I will describe to you, Silence, how you twist my peaceful thoughts to those of horror and anguish. Silence, when I sit in my worn, leather chair, and you greet me like an old friend, I wish you wouldn’t. You make me think of things I’ve done and things I didn’t. You make me think of the life I have wasted. When you come to visit me, Silence, you are certainly not welcome, yet you pull up a chair as if saying, “It’s just you and me now.” Silence, you make tears stream down my face without a sound. You make me dwell upon all of the achievements I wanted but never reached. You, Silence, cause me to reflect on old grievances that I thought I had already overcome. You force me to recall every last disappointing thing I have done, every person I have let down, and every person I have yet to let down. Dear Silence, you may think you are impenetrable, but I am here to tell you you are not. For every time you show up and think you are here to stay, she walks in and all thoughts of horror and anguish return to thoughts of peace. And as long as she lives, you may come to visit, but know you will never be welcome to stay.

Not So Sincerely, An Old Friend

 

 

 

Inspired by Shakespeare’s Sonnet 30

“When to the sessions of sweet silent thought

I summon up remembrance of things past,

I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought,

And with old woes new wail my dear time’s waste:

Then can I drown an eye, unus’d to flow,

For precious friends hid in death’s dateless night,

And weep afresh love’s long since cancell’d woe,

And moan the expense of many a vanish’d sight:

Then can I grieve at grievances foregone,

And heavily from woe to woe tell o’er

The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan,

Which I new pay as if not paid before.

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,

All losses are restor’d and sorrows end.”

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Silent Tears

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My love is like a red, red rose

     Silently, tears streamed down my porcelain cheeks like raindrops rolling down a car window. My head tilted up slightly, and I caught a glimpse of the murky, opaque skies above me. Several stray hairs swept across my face as I forced my head back down. Tears continued their endless waterfall down my face.

My love is like the melodie that’s sweetly play’d in tune

 

     My hands clutched the wrinkled paper like it was the only thing that mattered anymore. In some ways it was. I vaguely remember someone telling me when you cry loudly it is because you are hurt, but when you cry silently it is because you cannot stop. “What happens when you cry silently because you are hurt and you can’t seem to stop?” my thoughts wandered.

 

So deep in love am I, and I will love thee still, my dear

 

     A cold and chilling wind whipped my raven black hair across my face. My cheeks were red, and my eyes were swollen from crying. Whatever was left of the sun has gone now, but I cannot bring myself to leave. I sit down and begin to read the paper. “My love is like a red, red rose. My love is like the melodie that’s sweetly play’d in tune. So deep in love am I, and I will love thee still, my dear,” my voice doesn’t sound like my own. Exhaustion overcomes me as I lay my head on the gravestone of the only man I have ever loved, and I slowly drift off to sleep.

The Death of a Shooting Star

She was the moon. Glowing and bright. Her hair swept across her face as she looked down. Her laughter was a symphony. It floated through the air like a feather, lightly sweeping past the ears of those around her.

As she grew, the trees grew. She got taller. The days got longer.

Her tears created floods. Trees stopped swaying. Bees halted their buzzing. Birds stopped singing their tunes.

Her imagination created stars. Nebulas burst like a painting throughout space.

Wherever she stepped, gardens grew behind her. Wherever she sat, flowers sprout around her.

As she grew old, so did the trees. Her skin wrinkled, and so did the leaves from those trees. Her imagination dulled, and so did the color of the skies. Silky black hair became almost colorless.

When her last breath left her icy, blue lips the skies were angry. Snow fell from the sky like ashes. As her skin paled, the skies clouded. Because when she died, everything else died with her.

She truly was the center of the universe.

Anxiety

“Can you tell I haven’t slept since the last time that we spoke?” – Mayday Parade

Anxiety.

“This is the road to ruin, and we started at the end.” – Fall Out Boy

Too many stray thoughts.

“Does the television make you feel the pills you ate or every person that you need to be?” – My Chemical Romance

When you finally catch one you can’t  let go. You think and ponder upon the thought.

“‘Cause these words are knives that often leave scars. The fear of falling apart.” – Panic! At The Disco

Holding on to a thought for too long feeds it like wildfire.

“Shadows will scream that I’m alone.” – Twenty One Pilots

It burns, yet you can’t let go.

“In the end as you fade into the night. Who will tell the story of your life?” – Black Veil Brides 

You tell yourself that you are worried about nothing, but the thought still lingers.

“Sing me to sleep. I’ll see you in my dreams.” – All Time Low

In the back of your mind.

“Sometimes quiet is violent.” – Twenty One Pilots

Then the thought disappears. They all do. And while it may only be for a little while, you are at peace.