In Defence of (Those) Feelings
I felt loudly, in the way that most would hate and none would envy. There was always a crack in my heart that spoke to my mind much louder than it should have, and in the past my immature mouth sounded out the syllables and took breaths in the spaces between poorly constructed sentences, all confused and pained and joyous. The stars did not speak to me the way I hoped they would and I was left in silence, not exactly ignored but with so many unanswered questions that I myself ended up trifling with in the sand. (The waves erased any trace of my existence there). The quest for the answers did not consume me. But rather, the dreary lies that substitute them satisfied me- strangely even more so now.
I learned early on that comforting myself this way was better, easier, it made my heart sigh in relief at my own sustained happiness (despite being built upon half-truths). Those feelings kept me in the clouds, like a drug. Love abundant, overflowing, unabashedly free- was how I decided to feel. Perhaps an immature and uninformed decision, but it was mine nonetheless.
I fell recklessly, like it was a badly constructed habit. Love kept the hurt away by way of keeping me in a constant hum of pain.
(And I welcomed it, expected it, all helpless)
My heart felt full then, it comforted me with half-truths and speculation. Happy to not lie and not venture for useless pain that only wasted time. (For that was what I chose to believe, what I recklessly believe still). I didn’t know how my face looked with every punch to the gut - the painless kind that came with words instead of fist - but I could instead see the face who stared on.
It was you, of the past, of the present, of the future.
(I didn’t cry, then)
As a semi-adult (I’d be quite cheated to think of myself otherwise), I kept my loud feelings around my ears, warming them for the winter, oftentimes creeping down to flush my neck and cheeks. It was uncomfortable, but it was nothing compared to those feelings- the ones that caused them in the first place. Those feelings are unapologetic, like you (of the past, of the present, of the future) - and I don’t know whether to concentrate on the pain that came with the sudden clench of my heart or the pleasant tingling across my fingertips, for they were all a reaction to you (of the past, of the present, of the future). Those feelings were loud outwardly, but it was mostly kept in my heart.
Sometimes as I wander aimlessly down familiar streets doing the things that I always do the way I usually do them (I am a creature of habit, unfortunately), those feelings accompanied me, keeping my ears warm under occasionally dark hair. You didn’t accompany me (in the past, present, quite probably the future), not in the way those feelings demanded. But I oddly find myself satisfied with the dull heat across my face, as it was satisfying enough as I trembled against the snow. (Without you, decidedly without you - in the past, present and most likely in the future).
Those feelings were with me when you chose not to be, and I am in constant pain- a conscious decision made by a helpless mind.
I admit to cower sometimes (only sometimes), against the coldness that the empty space brought.
(It was the empty space that I disliked, not the lack of your careless eyes).
I would have to insist that those feelings that have consumed me were manifested by the existence of you (of the past, of the present, of the future), a half-truth I think of every time my eyes reach up to the stars.
(They did not find you)
(In the past, present, or the future)