Written By Starlight

There are nights when the wolves are silent and only the moon howls. ~George Carlin

[writtenbystarlight]

The I of You.

I’ve waited.

I’ve kept my head held high.

I’ve kept my hopes aloft.

I’ve kept my dreams alive.

I’ve waited.

Weatherbeaten. Heartbroken.

I’ve longed for you...

I’d be alone.

I’d still be living for others.

I’d still be stagnating.

I’d still be in solitude.

I’d be alone.

Lost. Desolate.

I’d be without you...

I’m not me.

I’m not who I used to be.

I’m not who I should be.

I’m not who I am supposed to be.

I’m not me.

Confused. Worried.

I’m changing for you...

I’ll make this work.

I’ll keep putting on my smile.

I’ll keep doing new things.

I’ll keep my mind open.

I’ll make this work.

Scared. Hopeful.

I’ll make us work.

[writtenbystarlight]

Day 9: 30DayLetterChallenge

Someone you wish you could meet

Dear Future,

I wish I already knew the comfort of your sleeping body next to mine.

I wish I could ask you to hold me when the whole world is ripping apart at the seams - because of me. 

I wish I knew your voice.  

I wish you were here. 

Marimyana

[writtenbystarlight]

I have a violin for a heart. Strings taut, at the ready. Secrets whispered in the near silence of an empty room.

[writtenbystarlight]

Reality

Last week, I woke up in a different country. It had different sounds. The city had different sirens and different drivers. There was different music. It smelled differently, too. Fresher somehow, and healthier. Breakfast smelled so different. The same scrambled eggs smelled so differently here than they did back home.

But there are some things that never change – no matter the location. The feelings were still there. I wasn’t surprised at the new country. I didn’t wake up in a daze, confused. It wasn’t strange or frightening, like being pulled out of a dream and thrown back into reality. But it was still painful. It was like waking up in a nightmare of emotions.

Waking up, but prepared, not surprised. I woke up, and there it was sitting in my chest. The feeling of being alone. Abandoned. It was very similar to waking up the night after you left me. I only slept an hour and the whole time I was asleep, I knew you would be gone. It was like watching a movie and knowing what will happen next because the background music just changed. The whole time I was asleep, I heard the tune; I knew what was waiting for me.

And then when I opened my eyes, I only knew two words.

“He’s gone.”

This was the same. Just in a different country. In a different bed, with different sounds and different smells.

But I still woke up knowing only two words.

“He’s gone.”

[writtenbystarlight]

Lights

I feel my pain in flashing lights. Pulsing reds, stinging blues, slashing greens... Dull or bright, fast or slow, flashes or blinding images. I've experienced this for so long, I have a hard time explaining how I feel to medical professionals. "How do you feel?" "It feels like pulsing jets of pain lighting up in my arm. My chest feels like I'm being momentarily blinded by the brightness of the pain. It hurts so badly and I all I see is streams of dull blue." Is it really a wonder that I have never been healed of my physical pain? Instead, I've been told to take a higher dose of Motrin when I feel pain. Instead, I've been told I'm just feeling the effects of stress. Instead, I've been told, I can't be helped, since I don't really understand or know how I feel. I do know; I see it clear as day.

[writtenbystarlight]

I write and erase all the words that come spilling out from the depths of my soul. They are never strong enough to hold yours; my thoughts are frail and wicked. No silver lining or gold thread.

Marimyana

[writtenbystarlight]

Extraneous

I tried to go through my shelves and remove extraneous notebooks and papers and all I found were bits and pieces of you. The parts I couldn’t hold onto in reality, tucked away in between college ruled papers and old journals.

[writtenbystarlight]

Violence

Violence is not always a shattering blow to the skull or an empty gun cartridge. It is not always the bully or the dictator. Violence also stems from silence. A wordless yet deafening pain sprung onto the world because of inaction and silence. To me, there is nothing worse than that.

[selectables]

I only write when I am falling in love, or falling apart.

e.s. (via selectables)

[thoughtsintorhymes]

I like being the voice Of reason - Saying, “It’s okay, the world Isn’t going to end And you can try again Tomorrow.” But sometimes, I need Someone to be that voice for Me. I need them to look At me and say, “I can sense That you’re hurting and that’s alright, But you’re gonna get through The night.” I need To hear it because I don’t Think I’m strong enough to fight The constant murmurs of Doubt and sadness myself. And maybe If they tell me it’s okay, over and over, I might start to believe them. I know I’m not a child But sometimes I need to be cradled And told that I’m not a bad person, Because there are days when It’s difficult to stop Thinking that I am.

~Voice of Reason. // r.e.s (via thoughtsintorhymes)

This is very important to me. 

[writtenbystarlight]

She sees the world, not as it is, but as it should be; she sees her surroundings as art. As a force that can immobilize and paralyze or inspire and motivate. The flowers are not petals and stems, they are color and shape and feeling. She overlays her world with paint splatter and charcoal shading. Life becomes bearable because it is now more than physical; it is spirit.

[writtenbystarlight]

I loved you for so long. I loved all your faults and splintered pieces, even the hurt that you spread like a fatal disease. For what it’s worth, I didn’t even deserve you. But you deserved me.

Marimyana ✨🌙

[writtenbystarlight]

“Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass."

~ Anton Chekhov

[writtenbystarlight]

Broken

I found a letter I wrote to myself a while back; it must have been three years ago. I didn't plan on reading it and crying bitter tears. I was planning on sweeping everything into a large bin and tossing it in the trash. But for some reason, I thought it might be important so I opened my origami folding to read my scrawls. It was written like a song - there were lines and stanzas, a repeating chorus, a bridge... So instead of a silent reading, I tried to remember the tune I gave it. It was a couple of minutes before I realized my eyes were stinging with salty tears and I couldn't see the words. It made me wonder how many other letters I had written, both to the world and myself, that were so broken. I write about tears a lot; I cry a lot in my writing. But how many of my shed tears did I lock up and accidentally throw away into a bin or trash bag? Don't my thoughts deserve better? Don't all of ours? Isn't that why anyone writes - because we deserve better than what we're feeling? If I could, I would gather all of my broken thoughts and give them some moonlight to live by. The sun would be too bright, too expectant. But the moon would be softer, more forgiving. I would let myself be consoled by the moon. I would do the same for you - I would share the moon with you so you would feel less broken. Maybe, we could even fix each other; fit our broken pieces side by side and find solace in the moon.

[little-miss-tragedy]

The words come tumbling out of my mouth, like rocks down a hill during an avalanche. Words like, “I’m sorry,” “Please don’t leave me.” “I need help…I can’t do this on my own anymore.” I try to stop myself, but they just keep flowing. Silence is safe, words are scary—especially the truthful ones.

(286/365) by (DS)

[writtenbystarlight]

Test-Drive

My first boyfriend drove a car he dubbed as “The Blueberry”. I thought that was so sweet and that it made him so lovable. The next guy I dated drove a car named “Roxxy”. Roxxy with a double ‘x’. For some reason, I thought that made him so unbearably cool.

I just wish I was worthy of a name. If I was, maybe they might have kept me for longer than the test-drive period.

[writtenbystarlight]

When she got to the summit of the highest mountain in her world, she set up the hammock she lugged with her the whole way. She dragged out her telescope and began to search for the missing planet. It was right at the edge of her vision, and waiting. A patient, impossible dream.