writing nonsens

just wanted to share some of my writing. Always happy about feedback if you liked it or not

[everynameiwantedwastaken]

overgrown

The hinges of the old gates squeak like forgotten memories as I push past. Our soft laughter fading into the fog as I take slow steps into the overgrown garden we once called home, trying to remember where the path into paradise used to be. The moments we spend hiding from the world and its' expectations woven between the ivy crawling over the broken statues that were the only witnesses to my love for you. Your soft words and gentle touches caressing my skin like you were still here with me, like it was just yesterday we were sitting in the soft grass talking about everything and nothing, like you have not been missing from me for over a year now, like I have not been dying without you. The soft, warm wind carrying me trough the garden the way you used to. When I close my eyes it almost feels like your hand on my back and your deep but soft voice whispering into my ear the way you knew I loved. I can see you kneeling in front of me between the marble, the ring catching the light shining from the softly glowing stars above us, I have not been able to look at the stars again without seeing you since that night. Just like that night tears are falling down my face but unlike then when I open my eyes now you are not there, the stars are not shining, the marble statues are broken and ivy crawling over the once smooth surface the same way emptiness is starting to claw its' way up my throat. The roses we planted on our wedding day decaying and fading into nothing against the gravestone where you should be.

[everynameiwantedwastaken]

hope

The scent of smoke carries through the still air of the empty chapel. The prayers it was once witness to long since faded into eternity. A lone candle trying to keep hope alive as everything around it bows to the sands of time. The ever-dying embers casting a soft, almost alive dance of shadows over the crumbling altar it was once allowed to fill with light. Statues of the divine long forgotten fading into darkness the weaker the flame becomes. Wax dripping from the candle like life draining from its very soul, the fire fading with every drop slipping away from the hungry flame. The sound carrying whispers of worship to Gods long believed dead; yet it refuses to vanish like everything around it. The other candles all burned out the moment the doors closed forever and eternity started to creep in through the cracks. Ivy reclaiming what once was nature's. Vines wrapping around broken pieces of Gods that believed they would live forever. Cold light shining over the overgrown marble a soft hand of devastation as the stars twinkle beyond the windows adorned with stories of a time long faded into oblivion. The once colorful pictures telling tales of worship and wonder no one will ever listen to again, crumbling, fading, dying just like the figures they whisper about. A gust of air slipping past the cracks, with it a faint memory of all that has been lost. The floor creaking softly at the cares of a touch it had long forgotten as it carries on to the flickering ambers of the last hope still standing. Time almost seems to hold its breath when it reaches the candle, waiting, watching, hoping. The wind holding out a waiting hand to the flame, silent permission to fade away, to not have to keep going for an audience that will never come again. Slowly the golden glow flickers before chasing the gentle touch that wants to save it away and feeding on the last of the wax that keeps it alive.

[everynameiwantedwastaken]

when forever stopped

The roses you have sent me before duty called you away from me are already wilted and faded. Their lifeless forms on the table in front of me as I write this. I miss you. I remember the day I got the letter from my sister telling me what had happened like it was yesterday. The sun was just starting to creep over the horizon but it felt like even nature knew about the content of the yellowed parchment with my sisters writing, the devastating news inside because it had been raining the whole night and the fog blurred everything around me. The cobblestone was glistening with the warm light from the street lamp I front of my apartment. Do you remember the one I am talking about? We were dancing through the empty street beneath the stars, the warm light of the streetlamp the only witness to our love, our first kiss. I was terrified of what would happen to you if anyone found out about it. You told me not to worry about it, we should have. It was the first time I felt truly alive and the moment I realized you were the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with if only we had known.

The moment I held her letter in my hands I felt my world shatter around me. Had not even realized how long I was standing there for until Mrs Brown had wrapped a blanket around me and brought me back inside. She was so sweet and offered me tea and present company. I feel bad for not having listened to the stories she told me trying to comfort me, I have to thank her.

But that night was not the moment when everything stopped for me but it made me realize the life I wanted was over and would never be ours.

My parents had arranged me a husband and I was expected home by nightfall the next day. They had found out, we should have stopped while we were still able to. Even thought I know I was never able to stay away from you. You were the only place where I could be really happy and completely myself, you are everything I could have ever wanted, so be certain I am doing this to keep you safe even if it means breaking me in the process. Promise me to try and find happiness. I cannot live with the thought of both of us being miserable.

I love you

I draw a heart next to my signature and fold the paper before sealing it with wax and putting it on the table with the last symbol of the man I fell in love with dying next to it. The roses once so vibrant and fresh now dead and gray.

As I pick up my suitcase the tears are streaming down my face for everything left unsaid before my father had called my lover away, only later did I understand that his summons that day had not been coincident but a silent warning and judgment. I knew we should not have fallen in love but the moment our eyes had first met across the dance floor of one of my families parties for my father's business, I was already captivated by him and the way he took up space without needing to justify himself, without apologizing, without being questioned but it never could have worked. My heart will forever be his if my father sends him away on business or if I have to break his heart to keep my father from sentencing him to death. I should not have let him risk his life and well being for loving me.

My sister already waiting for me at the old train station to help prepare me for what is going to happen once we reach my family estate, once I meet the man my parents have chosen for me to marry. I was supposed to be able to choose but our love was threatening the legacy my family is pretending has not been ruined generations ago. Because how could their youngest daughter, promised for greatness possibly want a man so much older than her, a mere employee of the family name she was born with. They never understood how their rules and rotting legacy was suffocating me, molding me to pretend to be something I am not for their own gain.

So I take my sisters hand and let her help me on to the train, my suit case left behind on the bench in the corner, unable to let the rotting, dying life I am forced back into touch anything that was as pure and all consuming beautiful as our love. The clock stops the exact time I step on the train and my heart breaks for the life I have to give up to save the life of the man that has showed me what love is. Life will never mean anything to me after this moment, my heart forever with someone I cannot have because it threatens the dying thing my parents so desperately try to deny is dead.

The clock forever freezes time and never moves past 8:17; the moment forever stopped.

[everynameiwantedwastaken]

the attic which remembers

The attic stands silent and dusty in the empty house. Spiders spinning their webs between the broken glass making it seem as if no time has passed since it was last whole, the shattered glass shining in the soft sunlight creeping in from the dirty window. The dust floating through the still air a reminder of the once softly spoken words in its presence, settling over the books with dying stories like a blanket of eternal peace. Words written in the margins fading into nothing with no one there to discover them anymore. Pages worn, edges softened by repeated use. Some ink already bleeding through the yellowed paper and splattered tears marking its surface; telling a story no one will ever understand. A story of beauty in a place no one would even dare to look for it. Old dusty rooms with nothing but whispers of what used to be, what never will be and what could have been keeping it company. Even the sunlight afraid of disturbing the lingering memories of a life and love well past.

[everynameiwantedwastaken]

broken mirrors

I do not know how I have gotten here. The old door of the empty and abandoned theater squeaks slightly as I push it open. The air is still with dust floating through it. The small flakes carrying a faint smell of wax and old paper. Moth eaten velvet soft beneath my fingers as I move further into the room. It is like an invisible force keeps pulling me in. With every slow step the soft beating grows louder, thump, thump, thump. At first I thought it was the wooden floor under my feet but when the sound almost seemed to wrap around me the deeper I moved into the old theater it was clear. It did not come from me.

It felt like gentle hands were leading me to the stage, not loud, not intrusive...almost familiar in the way old memories are. Soft, hesitant, slightly blurry at the edges and faded by the passing of time. The stage must have been incredible when it was entertaining an audience. Paint chipping at the sides, the wood crumbling under the weight of what used to be in some places. Curtains once the center of attention, now home to moths just like the seats that were so soft beneath my fingers. Slowly the thumbing coaxes me up the broken stairs my steps like whispers of the wonders the stage was once witness to. Dust covering the space like a soft blanket of eternity. My feet disturbing the preservation of what used to be. Fading sunlight casting a soft glow over the stage and reflecting of the broken mirrors. Glass all over the rotting wood in front of me as the soft thump that had wrapped around me like a soft cares suddenly growing louder and louder. Softness turning into oppression, making me unable to look away from the broken pieces before me; turning from comfort into panic and accusation. The very air starting to suffocate me as a gust of wind squeezes through a crack somewhere. The blanket of dust swirling around me like a fist, keeping me in place unable to look away or run or scream. The person looking up at me from the shattered glass everything I was trying to hide. In every piece another thing staring up at me as my chest gets tighter and tighter. Sun dancing over the broken mirror unaware of what it is doing, unaware of the damage.

Just as suddenly as it had suffocated me the air went still. Dust floating back down, thumping getting soft again but now with a sharpness it did not posses when it lead me here. The gentle touch from before sharp and cold. The space drowning in darkness as the light retreats, images fading away with the warmth of the sun. Atmosphere back to how it always used to be yet nothing will ever be the same again as I stumble off the crumbling stage and out the door, sharp thumping following me out like the broken pieces of the mirror.

[everynameiwantedwastaken]

mirror

Once whole

now no more

Once one and bright

now many and shrouded not in light

Edges worn and light

too dark for the night

pieces bright without might

mattered once but lost their light

Sun soft and warm

might try with all its ligth to make them bright

pieces too far and wide to see the light

still shrouded in deep night

Edges sharp and jagged

broken with the might of being see by the light

fading out piece by piece

unable to meet what they used to be

[everynameiwantedwastaken]

balance

It is the same as every day. The same spot, the same empty nothing, the same distance, the same eternal silence. My back to the middle, all off us working to keep our world in balance. I can not even remember the last time we spoke. From the moment we woke up here the rules were simple; do not move, do not speak, do not even breath out of turn, do nothing that could upset the fragile balance of the plain we call our home. What a harsh price to pay for survival. What we are doing here can not be called anything but surviving, we are alive but we are not living. Yet we cannot complain because those rules have kept us alive until now, however long it has been since my brothers and I have gotten here.

Suddenly there is a deafening sound coming from where one of my brothers is supposed to be standing, piercing trough the silence that has been surrounding us for as long as I can remember and the world starts tilting to the side.

Hastily I turn around to see what is going on and has our world protesting against the balance we have been trying to keep. It is a strange wooden box that has, all so suddenly, disturbed our meticulously maintained balance threatening the very thing that has made it possible for us to survive. My brothers are scrambling to try and find the balance again to stop our world from tilting too far and throwing us off.

Slowly I make my way over to the very wooden box that could end us. The closer I get the more I can see the details on it, the golden bands around it that are holding the wood together, the deep brown color of it, the way it seems to have fallen out of nowhere with no explanation. I need to find out what is inside it, what meaning the box could possibly have, what could possibly make our world crumble around us. My brothers are silent as I approach the cube, sometimes I wonder if we were even still able to speak after all this time we have spent with nothing but deafening silence around us. I can feel my brothers taking a step back for every step I take forward as to not upset the fragile balance we now seem to have build with the new object in our world. Leaning down I try to find where to open it and once I find a little golden handle on the front, pulling at it to open the box. Somehow the silence that has been a constant companion for all the time I can remember turns oppressive and almost suffocating the moment the golden hinges creak open and reveal the nothingness inside. What cruel being could be out there and just put this box here, risking our world and life for nothing? What has our suffering been for if a box with nothing inside could make everything fall apart around us?

[everynameiwantedwastaken]

hallway of fading memory

I feel like I have been here before yet it seems so different. The hallway is cold, color from the wall faded and chipped. I am almost certain it is supposed to be filled with warmth and not as cold as a body the light vanished from a long time ago. My steps are slow and hesitant almost like I am walking through the murky waters of a swamp. Floor hard and cold as ice beneath my bare feet as my way forward clears only like fog through the headlights of a car. Pictures on the wall bleeding over the frames like dying tings. The cold settling around me like a blanket of snow until a soft, almost warm touch appears on my back. Guiding me even further through the hallway that keeps contradicting everything I thought I knew about it. Every painting I come by reaching out to me like they hope I can safe them but the faces and moments keep swimming together and feeling all wrong; accusing me of not remembering and letting them fade away into oblivion. I do not know where the soft touch wants me to go if it wants to help me or if it is just cruel irony leading me deeper into the memories dying around me. Steps still heavy and taking everything in me to keep going and not just surrender to eternity claiming the space around me. Every time I think about giving up the warmth guiding me almost seems to get more desperate and demanding; taking everything from me I could possibly give it. Feet tired screaming to rest and stop fighting but I cannot stop now not when the voices and accusations of everything crumbling around me keeps following me around like I owe it my life. The presence pulling me forward and forward and forward almost like it is afraid that I might listen to my feet. Voices and pictures and accusations swimming together and settling over me like the fog I have been wading through when there is something soft and warm flowing in my direction. The pull forward and the gentle touch growing insistent and restless. With every step the small light grows stronger and stronger, warmth slowly creeping in around me making the dying hallway almost feel the way I am sure it is supposed to. It is a door left open where the light slips out of and the warmth around me wants to go. The closer I get the more the heavy noise that has been following me all this time fades. The door is cracked open yet when I pull on the handle it does not open no matter how much I tug and pull at it. Accusations, cold reaching hands from dying pictures and the crumbling hallway clawing back up my legs the longer the door resists. Claws digging into my skin the deep red flowing over my flesh a dark beckon for the colorless, hungry darkness roaming the halls. My own hands desperate to get the door to move, clawing at the warm wood the same way the cold, dying memories bite into my skin.

[everynameiwantedwastaken]

The Room That Burned

The room still smells like smoke even though the fire burned out an eternity ago. It almost feels like the air wants to remember what it felt like to burn, to be held by something so destructively beautiful it leaves you forever changed. The warmth long since escaped through the cracks in the wall, windows already cleaned from the ash. Wooden floor repaired where the embers licked and nibbled at it. Paint covered with new vibrant color, yet the room resists to forget. Everything the fire had touched repaired or changed but the very air that had been keeping the warm glow alive refuses to let it go. Every time someone enters the room the smell of ash and fire lingers. Sometimes if someone stays long enough to feel the air move around them, almost like it has a mind of its own, you notice the forgotten heath of the fire licking at your skin. The warmth does not hurt, it does not demand to be noticed but when you do it wraps around you like a soft blanket, never to hurt but to comfort. The room had fallen in love with its destruction and the air tried to keep the story alive by remembering everything that had made it so beautiful to watch. The fire had almost seemed hesitant when it ate away at the live essence the wood and the wall had been so readily offering. Long after the warm and soft embers had taken their last breath all that was left were markings all over the space that looked like a lovers touch was supposed to feel. The signs were clear yet no one cared enough to try and understand them, so they erased every sign of the sacrifice the walls and floor made to try and keep the warm touch of the softly glowing embers alive. Now the air the only one that had witnessed how something could be so right yet cost everything someone had to give.