10.10.2005
going mental
Rayne. You are an idiot. You're life is in dire need of fixing, but you haven't been doing anything lately but sulk and feel depressed at your wretched luck.
Shut up.
What if I don't want to? You can't shut me up. I'm your damn...
Id. That's what you are.
I thought we were in good terms now.
Not really. You left again when I needed you. Damn good muse you are.
There are a lot more important things than your recent...concerns. So, get over it. Move on. Don't waste any more moments. And I thought you've changed.
Old habits die hard.
Don't use that same excuse on me again.
Here's a new one. Change is for the sensible. I'm an idiot, right?
Ok. Here we go again. Brood, sulk, cry. Next, you're going to tell me you want to die.
Look who's talking about brooding. And dying. You're dead right? Supposedly.
This isn't about me.
Exactly, so shut up. You don't know anything. Go away. Damn imaginary friend.
Is that really want you want?
...
Read between the lines, won't you?
...
No?
No.
And he stands. Walks. Reaches out. Smiles.
Idiot.
-----
Given is my muse. He came out of nowhere one day, stayed, inspired...went away. Comes back to haunt me(or just piss me off)every now and then, and I don't even know why I even bother to put up with him. Wait for him. Expect him to come. He's got something on me. I don't know what. Maybe it's his slightly boyish, slightly jaded charm. Or his eyes. Or his hair. I can't pinpoint exactly what it is. I just know that...he's there. When I need him or not. Mostly when I don't, but it doesn't matter. He takes away some of my miseries in life. Like a bottle of beer, a cigarette or novocaine. And yes, I am the only one who can see him. He's one of my deepest, darkest secrets. Now you know. Too bad he still won't show himself to you.
Reported @ 10:43 PM
10.06.2005
come October 15
One week to go.
I can do this.
Reported @ 10:00 PM
10.04.2005
losing grip
*mashes the keyboard while silently screaming and pulling her hair like a madman*
I have never felt so damn stupid and incompetent in all my life, as a student, as a human being. The future is bleak, when you're running on empty and not one gasoline stop is in sight. And then your brain just flatlines and eveything just falls into that obsidian void. This is probably how being in a coma feels like. I think a zombie probably has more brainpower than me.
There. I can breathe easy now.
-----
Conversations between a mistress and her muse who had long been gone then decided to just pop out of the entrance to her room all of a sudden, in a fashion similar to how the devil might have descended from the dark.
Goddammit. Why do you always, always, come back to haunt me at the most inappropriate time?
The ghost of a grin. Only for a second. Gone as fast it appeared.
I thought you like surprises.
Not really. Not when it involves the sudden reappearance of a memory best forgotten. One I've tried to forget for the most part, for the past years, at least.
Well then, pretend you're just imagining things.
He leans on the wall, and crosses his arms on his chest.
And he watches. And he waits.
His presence is just...utterly unnerving. In a good way.
One of the things I like about him, to be honest. How he tends to make his presence felt in the subtlest of ways. Or how he tends to conceal it without warning. Sort of makes you want to feel his presence all the more.
I AM imagining things. Damn you and your ghost...your essence, aura, charisma, mojo, whatever the hell you want to call it.
The barest of laughter. Just loud enough to reverberate across the room. Long enough for one to see the the rise and fall of his chest.
He straigthens himself up. Combs his hair with his hands, his hands with the beautifully carved, long and slender candle-like fingers. Sometimes, just staring at him makes you wonder if he's an angel. Or the devil in the flesh.
He walks toward the bed, positions himself strategically in front of me, just near enough so that I could only see, feel and breathe him. Far enough to tempt me to move closer. He pursed his lips.
Your eyes can deceive you. I can be just a trick of the light. But I'm more real than anything else here.
He moves closer. The bridge of our noses touched. I can almost see myself reflected in his eyes. Those eyes the color of the sea, the sky...and almost as infinite and unknowable. There was a time when I would always get lost staring at those eyes. Now, I think I'm beginning to, again.
You want proof?
And before I could think of anything to respond to that, or to argue with him for that matter, he finishes the conversation by touching his lips to mine.
It was a chaste kiss. One enough to prove his material existence nonetheless. One enough to make me forget everything else.
Damn you.
Well, it was the only thing that I could think of to say.
But he knew that there were a lot of things that I really felt, I really wanted to tell him. And he understood that. He always understood that.
And he smiles. Longer this time, and much obvious than the last, as he gently placed a finger on my lips to hush me, and rested his forehead on mine.
I closed my eyes.
He...
He's no angel.
And he certainly isn't the devil, that I know for a fact.
He's...my muse.
My Given.
Reported @ 5:40 AM
