Mars Ignited

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Some days the mundane feels like I’m slamming face down into the ground, the gravel around my head sanding it way into my ears, pebbles rattling around the crevices of my brain when I try to turn over. The air around me is silent but I hear noise, so much noise.

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I know that this feeling is momentary and is bound to die down soon but my heart is shooting fireworks and I will revel in every spark for as long as they keep flying.

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Waiting till the day we scream at each other.

I hope when it happens we’ll remember the depth of our love and how much we’ve untangled since always.

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All this emptiness has got me floating through time and space. I don’t know where I am but it feels like I’ve been here before, but I don’t recognize anything. I’m lost.

My heart compass points me towards something that feels close but also so far away. It’s within reach but I can’t see it. Or is it the other way around?

I’m wandering in circles, in straight lines back and forth. I don’t know if I’m moving forwards or backwards. I’m tripping over my own feet.

The sound of music has me frozen in time. I feel numb. My tears are warm. The fog is heavy. Is anybody out there? 

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I’m in the middle of something right now, and while it doesn’t attend to my every waking moment, it requires every ounce of my willpower in the moments that it does.

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Life is the most incredible paradox, so much that it is stupid. But as much as it can hurt to live, and as much as I’ve thought about dying, I still believe it is a blessing even when some of the things we have to endure are absolutely ridiculous.

It breaks my heart to imagine the pain someone has to feel to believe that they cannot endure life any longer. The permanent commitment that death involves requires an incomprehensible strength that no one alive currently holds. It is for this reason that I believe survivors of attempted suicide hold an even stronger force within them that kept them alive despite their efforts. It is in my deepest hopes that these people are able to find that force within themselves and build upon it the courage to share their heart with the world.

It takes strength to live and it takes strength to end it all. No one is weak.

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I’m going through something. My sides are being shredded and I’m getting a little messy. My path is narrowing. I’m being reshaped. I still don’t fit in. Perhaps I never will.

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Sometimes I wonder why I bother with a lot of things. But then I suppose it’s because otherwise my life would dissolve into meaningless droplets of empty nothings. And so I continue to bother until I am crushed again by the re-cycling waves of emotional disturbance.

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I try my best to stay aware and see the bigger picture of all that’s happening around me but still I manage to fall into the trenches of the mundane and slip between the cracks of consciousness. It never occurs to me how deeply I lose myself until I look back and see my burrowed trail of dirt and tears behind me.

What if we’re supposed to lose ourselves in the bigger picture? To move with every brush stroke, to feel every colour. What makes a masterpiece if not the finer details?

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What does it mean to clear the air?

We either talk through the smoke in front of us or we lose ourselves in the thick of it all and never see each other again.

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Stay empowered, but know when to drop your ego.

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I’m still me. I always was. My sense of self may have been corrupted by the pressures of my surroundings but I was always being myself the only way I knew how.

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You are my favourite rabbit hole to fall into. 

Even if I can’t see anything, even if I forget where and who I am, any thought of you makes me feel something. Grief, glee, agony― it doesn’t matter. My heart can’t tell the difference in the dark.

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Know your own strength so you can recognize if it’s an outside breeze that’s swaying you or the stirring of your own soul.

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Shallow half answers and glossed over significance

Shiny but rocky from a lack of right maintenance

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Every time I peek into the crevices of my heart I find shards of gleaming crystal and crumbs of nuggets of gold. When I try to widen its slivers and dig further into the cracks I see hints of sparkling colour and a shine that’s ever so bold. 

There’s something there, I want to reach it, my desire will not rest. There is promise of a hidden treasure buried deep within my chest.

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Thoughts of writing slip into my dreams at night and awaken horizons of possibility by morning. Whole worlds transpire in the black of slumber and crumble into colourful ideations as the sun hits my face.

Images rip from my mind as I wipe my eyes clear of sleep. All I have left are scattered pieces of a puzzle that I spend the rest of my day piecing together.