Creases

irrationalimposer:

You keep your distance, you stay away, but I’ve seen you naked.

You never really loved me, maybe you liked me, but I’ve seen you naked.

You never wanted to introduce me to your family or your so-called friends, but I’ve seen you naked.

You claim that I don’t know you enough, but I’ve seen you naked.

You want us to be just friends, but I’ve seen you naked.

It was 6:54 am precisely thirty minutes ago. I had a leftover burger twenty-five minutes from this very time. In ten minutes, I aim to have successfully put my thoughts to words. In 240 minutes, I will religiously check my tumblr for signs of reassurance from strangers and friends. In six weeks, I hope to have completed my third year. Two weeks after that, I will be returning to my family. In those two weeks, I hope to do many things. In the first day, I will meet strangers and make love to their thoughts. The line preceding this was edited in a way so as to not change perceptions of me. 

Five years ago was when I first experienced love. Today, I can no longer express nor feel love. Sixty minutes ago I wanted to write. Fifty-five minutes ago I decided to write but instead ate a leftover burger. During those fifty-five minutes, I spoke my mind out for twenty minutes and made an embarrassment of myself. Seven minutes ago, I discovered wonderful music. Two minutes ago, I was rechecking my calculations in the hopes I would not make a fool of myself, although that has proven very difficult over the years. In five months and three days time I hope to no longer make a fool of myself. In one year, five months and three days time I hope to know many things. In two million and something years, humans are still unaware of their purpose on earth. In 120 minutes I will surely fall asleep again. 5760 minutes is the amount of time I should’ve had my missing luggage. Fifty-two weeks is far too little time for a year. Now is when I should’ve ended this post. Right now is far too long a time where I have led myself astray.

It is now 7:46 am, little has changed except for the sun’s location and my pulse rate. And the pulse rate of seven billion people - five of whom, are people I will sacrifice my life for. Sixteen minutes ago is the amount of time I had hoped to put my thoughts to words. Zero, is the number of people who will remember you when you’re dead.

7:56 is when this post ended. 

thisismylastcigarette:

but it’s the walk back that kills me.

She looked into your eyes, and you let her - you let her suck in every breath you took since you were brought to life. A life that for so long, rendered you a still born. Dead. Still. Mute. But you let her, you gave her access to that muscle that relentlessly beats - day in and day out - to have you so willingly have her crush it. But your heart is no match for her ice cold soul, that ever so cunningly seeps and infects your every breath. The very same ones you have her breathe. Because you see, you let her. You had her delicate fingers wrap around your neck, and ever so patiently let her strangle you. You gasped, she smiled, you begged, she laughed. But you let her. You let her crush your limbs and drag you down six feet under into pitch black darkness. You saw nothing but her shadows, heard only her faintest laughs, and when the moons aligned, tasted her bitter tears. You let her. You let her crush your lungs and drown you in the saltiest of waters, and when you begged and begged for her to set you free, you were caressed in her smiles. Pearly whites that gave you the air you so longingly pleaded for. Breathe. 

But you see, it was the light that guided you; hers and only hers, ever so brightly it guided you to the waters where she waited every night. Every night she yearned for nothing else but to see your smiles. And you let her. You charged her protons and had her traverse the galaxies; touch naked skin; discover untouched land. You had her freezing cold keys seek refuge in every house that populated your soul. Door after door, broken down. House after house, vandalised - until you lay naked, vulnerable against everything that once brought you to life. You gave her the ropes that cast you into the seven seas just to see her light. Just to see those smiles, to hear her laugh, to make her happy. But she yearned for nothing else but to darken your glow. You lay motionless in the waters every night awaiting her unblemished glances. But you were only welcomed with darkness. Every night you waited.

And now, six feet under, you wait for the rest of your life for the very same soul to anchor you back to the light. But there’s no anchor in sight, only darkness. You shouldn’t have let her.

But you did.

I’ll tell you the story of a not so young boy who grew very old. Not old with time per se, but old with experience. Some of it good, the majority, not so much. This boy was a friend of mine who shall remain nameless for the betterment of his reputation. We shall name this boy ‘Alex’. Although I should add, he is in fact neither a boy nor yet a man. He is an ‘inbetweener’ of some sorts. Why does the word inbetweener not exist? I know several people who are inbetweeners - in between emotions, opinions, love for people, life and death. Have you ever met anyone that wasn’t in between something? I know I haven’t. If you ask me, we should drop usage of the word ‘human’ all together and use inbetweeners. Yes, that’s what Alex and everyone is: an inbetweener. 

Alex is a good person who did bad things, the majority of which will be discarded from memory, plucked out and simply laid to rest. Having been exceptionally able at Math, Alex would tutor his newly formed, yet too close friend; again, whose name shall not be mentioned. On a night at approximately 2am in the heart of winter, this friend was to visit Alex at his rented apartment where he would be, as planned, tutored. This however was not the case, and due to Alex’s mental instability, they would instead venture on Cairo’s streets in search for Alcohol. Cairo’s weather on the other hand, had different plans. Fog, lots of it, which to Alex’s despair was not the ying to the yang of his friend’s car. Alex’s thirst for alcohol paralleled that of Tsunamis, and within seconds he was laboriously scrubbing that windshield. The alcohol was bought, enjoyed by only Alex and no tutoring took place. Instead, drunken words and sober thoughts were exchanged, heart to heart, tears, nudity. They were both naked, their souls dimly lit, confession after devastating confession. Suicidal thoughts, Bankruptcy, failed dreams. That was Alex, a concoction of all the things that shouldn’t, but still wen’t wrong. And then darkness, mute. Just like that, words were never spoken again. Alex no longer had that friend. 

Alex is now dead. 5th floor, suicide. He is mourned by none. None but his friend. His friend still struggles with math. 

frankocean:

dammit. i really wanted to see if i could be as cool as george clooney in my 50’s too.