Juliette, my love!
Ma belle fille; ma chère!
Tu es tout mon monde!
Tu es mon amour!
Allow me to speak,
In any language,
To your heart, ton coeur!
Mon français est drôle,
And I can't write songs,
That might move your heart.
J'échoues, mon amour.
But I won't fail you,
Or so I hope not.
I hate Shakespeare now!
He's made you cliché!
You are much greater,
That that worthless play.
Car t'es vivante,
And Romeo is not.
You are not a play,
And yet you suffer
From a tragic life.
The play has cursed you!
Stupid, wretched thing!
Your love-life is cursed!
Les garçons d'avant,
The poor times you've had.
Ton coeur est blessé!
But that means injured,
Poor girl isn't blessed.
Anyways, my love,
I want for the world
To know our love!
It transcends language!
Surpasse les Cieux!
J'adore ton sourire!
Et ton nez bouton!
You are perfection!
I want all to know,
So that they might turn
Green with Zilia!
You are the beauty,
That men see in life!
Oh, dear Juliette,
Tu es mon monde.
-Zero
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Monday, December 24, 2012
Another Year Gone
One year ago today, I wrote about the different characters that had been so dominant in the year, and in my life, until that point. I would like to do that again this year, but I have very little to say on the matter. Simply put, there are only one or two new characters that have appeared.
The first is, of course, Miss Swan, who I had met at my campsite in Eganville while on a vacation of a sort. She has been the subject of many poems since early August. Also, in the November just past, I began a novel titled "A Plead To Iris" which focuses heavily on Miss Swan herself. I find it strange to say that I have reached the end of what I have written about her, but at the same time, I find it quite alright.
The second is my dear Isabel, who I had written about before hand. However, Isabel, or Izzy if you will, has reached the point where she and I are far too distant from how we used to be. Thus, all of the inspiration that I have that involves her is completely fictional, as it should be I suppose. It is also a way for me to test William Wordsworth's idea about the "emotion recollected in tranquility" that is a skill of the poet, according to him. It worked well, I suppose, but I have not finished the most recent, however. The most recent story in which Isabel shows up is "Kuna Zero: A Wanderer's Tale", so you can easily imagine why it might be taking a while.
These two, along with Malika, Brianna, and Katherine, have led me to question the very nature of my relationships with them. These relationships vary from ex-lovers to nearly absolute strangers. It is only in recent days, however, that I have begun to consider other relationships that I have had. Thus, I will tell you now of the button-nosed stranger and the other Queen which makes an appearance in my most recent poem, which I may one day share with you.
The button-nosed stranger is simply that. She is a girl of about my age that I would see on the bus some mornings. She is quite beautiful. I have never spoken to her, nor do I ever intend to. She served a purpose in my life that was entirely based upon her distance. It was her who led me to consider the nature of the relationship one has with absolute strangers. In a strange way, it helped me deal with the loneliness I find myself often suffering from. This is because I found strangers to be absolutely wonderful in how they do not create an illusion of friendship or of closeness, but rather have no problem in showing and recognizing the distance between themselves and another. It is beautiful.
The other Queen, however, was a good friend of mine at some point. Oh I was quite fond of her. She was intelligent and kind, to say the least. She and I ceased our friendship a day or two before I met dear Miss Swan. This sudden shift allowed me to not bother my mind with that which I had just lost. But I knew that one day I would have to face it. Thus, I decided to write a poem (currently titled "The Slave and His Queen") about the two of us. It was with this poem that I came to the conclusion that all that can change cannot last in the form that it is in. Therefore, by extension, I realized that no relationship can last through the test of time unless it is unchanging in nature. However, such relationships are based upon pure indisputable facts. For example, one's mother will always be one's mother. This relationship is based on something fundamentally unchanging about a person, much unlike friendships which, as I have discovered, can be subjected and torn apart by arguments or mistakes. For the benefit of this theory, if you have something that refutes it, please leave it in a comment below so that we may better define the nature of a relationship.
Earlier I stated that there were only one or two new characters that were dominant in the year and it seems to be quite untrue at this point. Perhaps it is better to say that only one or two new characters have dominated my writing over the past year, as the button-nosed stranger and the other Queen, as I call them, are only written about in one poem each. The button-nosed stranger is referred to in my poem "My Strangers" however. These characters only played a part in determining my theory about relationships that is quickly discussed above. I do not doubt that I may write about them again. But I believe I have gone on for long enough. I will leave a poem here for your entertainment. It is a shorter poem for me. I wish you a good holiday, for those who might be off work, and a happy new year. Until next time!
A Story Told
A story told is a story heard,
Whether it is written,
Or spoken,
Or recited.
Whether it be a novel,
Or a short story,
Or a poem.
Whether it is true,
Or false,
It does not matter.
A story will always be a story,
And the means of how it is told,
Will never change that,
Nor will the identity of the teller
Remove the identity of the story.
-Zero
The first is, of course, Miss Swan, who I had met at my campsite in Eganville while on a vacation of a sort. She has been the subject of many poems since early August. Also, in the November just past, I began a novel titled "A Plead To Iris" which focuses heavily on Miss Swan herself. I find it strange to say that I have reached the end of what I have written about her, but at the same time, I find it quite alright.
The second is my dear Isabel, who I had written about before hand. However, Isabel, or Izzy if you will, has reached the point where she and I are far too distant from how we used to be. Thus, all of the inspiration that I have that involves her is completely fictional, as it should be I suppose. It is also a way for me to test William Wordsworth's idea about the "emotion recollected in tranquility" that is a skill of the poet, according to him. It worked well, I suppose, but I have not finished the most recent, however. The most recent story in which Isabel shows up is "Kuna Zero: A Wanderer's Tale", so you can easily imagine why it might be taking a while.
These two, along with Malika, Brianna, and Katherine, have led me to question the very nature of my relationships with them. These relationships vary from ex-lovers to nearly absolute strangers. It is only in recent days, however, that I have begun to consider other relationships that I have had. Thus, I will tell you now of the button-nosed stranger and the other Queen which makes an appearance in my most recent poem, which I may one day share with you.
The button-nosed stranger is simply that. She is a girl of about my age that I would see on the bus some mornings. She is quite beautiful. I have never spoken to her, nor do I ever intend to. She served a purpose in my life that was entirely based upon her distance. It was her who led me to consider the nature of the relationship one has with absolute strangers. In a strange way, it helped me deal with the loneliness I find myself often suffering from. This is because I found strangers to be absolutely wonderful in how they do not create an illusion of friendship or of closeness, but rather have no problem in showing and recognizing the distance between themselves and another. It is beautiful.
The other Queen, however, was a good friend of mine at some point. Oh I was quite fond of her. She was intelligent and kind, to say the least. She and I ceased our friendship a day or two before I met dear Miss Swan. This sudden shift allowed me to not bother my mind with that which I had just lost. But I knew that one day I would have to face it. Thus, I decided to write a poem (currently titled "The Slave and His Queen") about the two of us. It was with this poem that I came to the conclusion that all that can change cannot last in the form that it is in. Therefore, by extension, I realized that no relationship can last through the test of time unless it is unchanging in nature. However, such relationships are based upon pure indisputable facts. For example, one's mother will always be one's mother. This relationship is based on something fundamentally unchanging about a person, much unlike friendships which, as I have discovered, can be subjected and torn apart by arguments or mistakes. For the benefit of this theory, if you have something that refutes it, please leave it in a comment below so that we may better define the nature of a relationship.
Earlier I stated that there were only one or two new characters that were dominant in the year and it seems to be quite untrue at this point. Perhaps it is better to say that only one or two new characters have dominated my writing over the past year, as the button-nosed stranger and the other Queen, as I call them, are only written about in one poem each. The button-nosed stranger is referred to in my poem "My Strangers" however. These characters only played a part in determining my theory about relationships that is quickly discussed above. I do not doubt that I may write about them again. But I believe I have gone on for long enough. I will leave a poem here for your entertainment. It is a shorter poem for me. I wish you a good holiday, for those who might be off work, and a happy new year. Until next time!
A Story Told
A story told is a story heard,
Whether it is written,
Or spoken,
Or recited.
Whether it be a novel,
Or a short story,
Or a poem.
Whether it is true,
Or false,
It does not matter.
A story will always be a story,
And the means of how it is told,
Will never change that,
Nor will the identity of the teller
Remove the identity of the story.
-Zero
Saturday, December 15, 2012
"The Disaster of Our People" and "Inaction of Our Time"
The Disaster of Our People
Such a sadness there is in those who did not and, on occasion, could not act. Great tragedies are felt across the land. An overwhelming sadness stands over it. But why do such things happen? It is in our nature to be violent and yet we reject it fully. Still when such events happen, the majority is left powerless. Have we forgotten how to act? This is not the first time, nor will it be the last, I am sure. To end the killings entirely is to do the impossible; it is to suppress human nature. But it is possible to act nonetheless.
We must use the information given to us instead of hoping someone else will. What are the weapons used to slaughter our children, our friends, our family, our neighbors? The weapons used for slaughter are weapons of war. Is it a war being waged on our lands? It would seem to be, but who is fighting who? Those who commit such crimes against humanity have an identity. Who are they? How can we oust them from the homes that they threaten? This is where the problem is.
We cannot distinguish them from ourselves, as they are us. We fight against ourselves, but for what? Is it for pleasure, or honor? Is it to protect each other? Surely the latter is impossible, as if we truly aimed to protect each other, then this fratricide would not happen. No, we fight for ourselves. This is how it happens.
We treat those who scare us either well or horribly. The act of treating them horribly results in revenge. It is our fear that controls us. This fear can be healthy, but when one is too afraid to act, it is destructive. Is it fear that keeps those weapons of war and slaughter so accessible in a land of peace? If so, then this fear enables the slaughter to happen; we enable the slaughter to happen.
We know this and it frustrates us. We don't want the slaughter to happen, but we don't know how to act. Our fear robs us of the knowledge to fix the problems within the people of this land. We are one person together. This person suffers from internal wars born of fear, frustration, and hate. This person stands divided in every aspect of being. This person understands some of the great wrongs but finds that he/she is doing it to his/herself.
Perhaps the fear of death is why we say murder is wrong. If it is, why would one kill one's self? We know there is something worse than death. That thing is the fear controlling us, the inability to do anything. We see such horrors, but cannot stop them. We are passive receivers of the torment. We have forgotten how to act.
But inaction will not last. Soon our frustration will grow and become unbearable. It is then that real change will come, for we will be too angry to allow our fear to hold us back. We will overthrow the tyrant that had been oppressing us for so long. It is then that we will change the world we live in for the better.
Inaction of Our Time
I am sick of this:
Waiting for heroes
To sweep us away,
And defeat evil.
Action must happen.
We are forsaken
By all the heroes.
They have not left us.
Yet we are without.
I wait no longer.
It is the losers,
And the powerless,
The beaten and weak,
Who will rescue us.
We must join forces.
All must be as one,
To battle evil,
This evil of ours,
The evil within.
Inaction dies now.
I refuse to fall,
When others need help.
Our revolution
Will begin tonight.
Our frustration roar.
Our conscious screams,
For we can do right.
And we will do it.
It is time we fight.
We are our heroes.
-Zero
Such a sadness there is in those who did not and, on occasion, could not act. Great tragedies are felt across the land. An overwhelming sadness stands over it. But why do such things happen? It is in our nature to be violent and yet we reject it fully. Still when such events happen, the majority is left powerless. Have we forgotten how to act? This is not the first time, nor will it be the last, I am sure. To end the killings entirely is to do the impossible; it is to suppress human nature. But it is possible to act nonetheless.
We must use the information given to us instead of hoping someone else will. What are the weapons used to slaughter our children, our friends, our family, our neighbors? The weapons used for slaughter are weapons of war. Is it a war being waged on our lands? It would seem to be, but who is fighting who? Those who commit such crimes against humanity have an identity. Who are they? How can we oust them from the homes that they threaten? This is where the problem is.
We cannot distinguish them from ourselves, as they are us. We fight against ourselves, but for what? Is it for pleasure, or honor? Is it to protect each other? Surely the latter is impossible, as if we truly aimed to protect each other, then this fratricide would not happen. No, we fight for ourselves. This is how it happens.
We treat those who scare us either well or horribly. The act of treating them horribly results in revenge. It is our fear that controls us. This fear can be healthy, but when one is too afraid to act, it is destructive. Is it fear that keeps those weapons of war and slaughter so accessible in a land of peace? If so, then this fear enables the slaughter to happen; we enable the slaughter to happen.
We know this and it frustrates us. We don't want the slaughter to happen, but we don't know how to act. Our fear robs us of the knowledge to fix the problems within the people of this land. We are one person together. This person suffers from internal wars born of fear, frustration, and hate. This person stands divided in every aspect of being. This person understands some of the great wrongs but finds that he/she is doing it to his/herself.
Perhaps the fear of death is why we say murder is wrong. If it is, why would one kill one's self? We know there is something worse than death. That thing is the fear controlling us, the inability to do anything. We see such horrors, but cannot stop them. We are passive receivers of the torment. We have forgotten how to act.
But inaction will not last. Soon our frustration will grow and become unbearable. It is then that real change will come, for we will be too angry to allow our fear to hold us back. We will overthrow the tyrant that had been oppressing us for so long. It is then that we will change the world we live in for the better.
Inaction of Our Time
I am sick of this:
Waiting for heroes
To sweep us away,
And defeat evil.
Action must happen.
We are forsaken
By all the heroes.
They have not left us.
Yet we are without.
I wait no longer.
It is the losers,
And the powerless,
The beaten and weak,
Who will rescue us.
We must join forces.
All must be as one,
To battle evil,
This evil of ours,
The evil within.
Inaction dies now.
I refuse to fall,
When others need help.
Our revolution
Will begin tonight.
Our frustration roar.
Our conscious screams,
For we can do right.
And we will do it.
It is time we fight.
We are our heroes.
-Zero
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Wanderer's Journal #23
Often I wonder what use there is in
telling this story. It is ridden with bad thoughts and hopeless
loves. The end is known all too well. What surprise might await the
reader? I suppose the surprise has long been dead within me. I
suppose these entries are really just for me to reflect upon so that
I might have a way to fill the eternity I have been given as
punishment. I will be honest now. The conflict between Mili and
Marie-Lynn was short-lived. The night-eyed girl's statement that “the
innocent cannot survive much longer” may have been true, but
Marie-Lynn had lost her innocence long before then. Such separate
lives these two girls led. They were only connected by me. I created
the horror of their conflict. I built their hatreds higher and higher
until even I could not climb it. This entertained me a little, I
think. But alas, reality was bound to come find me soon again. In
this case, the reality was that their contact was limited. It was so
limited that they nearly forgot about each other completely once a
larger distance was created. Marie-Lynn was leaving.
I asked her to stay but she told me that
it was out of her control. We were still teenagers back then, so it
seemed quite probable. The night following her departure, I found
myself within my own world once more. This time it was not as
colorful as it had been once. It was made of stone, or so it seemed.
Everything seemed solid and as unmoving as could be. The trees were
made of jade in their entirety. The grass did not exist any more. I
wandered about this hard and unforgiving world for some time,
pondering about its meaning. I climbed mountains and walked over
oceans, as they were made of sapphire. It took me some time to come
across that which had saved me before. There in front of me it raged
like the great Achilles. It was bound to nothing and never ceased to
move. Its very presence seemed to contradict the world around it. I
stumbled toward it, recognizing it instantly. I tried to place my
hand upon it, but it would not sit still. This caused for a smile to
break across my face. I followed the flame's movements as it danced
across the stone world. I wondered where it might stop but then
realized that it never would. There was a certain bliss in knowing
its constant nature. As time wore on in my world, I slowly found
myself dancing within the flame. I felt it engulf me happily. Once I
was fully emerged in it, the world suddenly changed. It all became
black for a moment. Then it burst into life. The trees became like
those in reality and the water turned back into a liquid. A warm
breeze blew from the south. The world had reawakened. The fire then
disappeared, having served its purpose. The clouds began to form in
the clear summer skies. I saw words in them, but for some reason
could not read them. It only took a moment for them to be spoken to
me instead.
“I have to go.” Marie-Lynn's voice
said from behind me. I spun around and found myself face to face with
her. She appeared saddened by her own words. I placed a hand on her
shoulder and nodded.
“If nothing ever changed, everything
would be set in stone forever. We would have never met.” I replied
knowingly. She smiled in return and quickly vanished. I reached out
into the air where she once stood. I felt nothing but empty space.
The Marie-Lynn I saw in that dream was fabricated by my own mind. I
was familiar with the manner in which it creates people and
recognized it right away. I smiled with a broken hope and turned back
around. The sun was setting on the horizon. The times were changing.
I opened my hand behind me and created a comfortable chair out of
nothing. I then promptly sat down in it. A snake slithered up to me.
It was carrying an apple with it.
“Where did she go?” It hissed in the
most friendly manner that it could muster. I pointed in a random
direction and sent it on its way. It would never find Eve.
It was then that I realized that there
was a distance between Marie-Lynn and I that I could not traverse in
the real world. It was a distance in the heart, I suppose. But I
would rather argue that it was a distance due to my world. We had
become so comfortable spending years together apart from all else
that we had forgotten what it meant to be alive in reality. It was
never as pleasant as we made it seem while we were dreaming. But that
is all we were doing. It all amounted to nothing in the end. Well
that is not entirely true. It led to her death. Even now as I wander
the broken land of men, I find myself thinking that the real downfall
of our relationship was not in what we called reality, but rather in
where we spent most of our time. We were subjected to the dream world
for far too long to understand what it meant to have a love like ours
in a world like that. It would not last. It did not last.
I awoke the next morning with tears in
my eyes. I wiped them away quickly and got ready to leave the house.
I refused to remain there. I wanted to wander about the world. One
could say I was looking for Marie-Lynn. But I knew where she was. Not
exactly, but I had an idea. She told me the name of the town she was
going to. She assured me it wasn't large, but that it was far away. I
recognized the name and knew she was telling the truth. Maybe I might
have walked there if I had hope for the future, but I had grown
hopeless after a long night. So I wandered the streets of the town
that we had shared for a time. I had nothing else to do with my time.
I revisited the spot where Mili and Marie-Lynn had clashed so
strongly. I visited where she once lived. But I could not visit where
she did live. The walk was too long for someone so broken down. The
world did not seem quite the same as it was the day before. It was
empty. People who walked by me had blank expressions. They seemed
emotionless. The beauty in the world was sucked from it violently, as
I no longer smiled when I saw the squirrels of the area chasing after
each other. I had always found it to seem quite playful in nature and
took pleasure in watching them run about. But after Marie-Lynn left,
I saw their chases for what they really were. They were battling over
food, dominance, and territory. There was nothing pleasurable in
their chasing for anyone anymore. The sun shined too bright that day
as well. It did not take me long to return home. I locked myself up
in my room and blocked out all the light I could.
I just wanted to be left alone in the
darkness forever.
-Zero
Thursday, December 6, 2012
My Strangers (Poem)
Illusions of friends;
Friends of nothing.
It is all for naught;
They amount to nill.
What may rescue me?
The random faces,
Unknown and silent.
So anonymous,
Yet familiar.
What may rescue me?
Strangers on the bus.
Strangers having tea.
Strangers reading books.
Strangers thinking deep.
What may rescue me?
Button-nosed strangers,
Old and wise strangers,
Middle-aged strangers,
Very young strangers.
What may rescue me?
Relationships true.
No one to deceive.
Nothing to make up.
No reason to lie.
They may rescue me.
Not an illusion
Of friendship conjured.
They remain distant,
No illusions made.
They may rescue me.
No need for contact,
For that would ruin it.
Keep our distance strong,
Companionship same.
They will rescue me.
In them I find peace,
Truth and loyalty.
They have no duty,
Only to themselves.
They have rescued me.
-Zero
Friends of nothing.
It is all for naught;
They amount to nill.
What may rescue me?
The random faces,
Unknown and silent.
So anonymous,
Yet familiar.
What may rescue me?
Strangers on the bus.
Strangers having tea.
Strangers reading books.
Strangers thinking deep.
What may rescue me?
Button-nosed strangers,
Old and wise strangers,
Middle-aged strangers,
Very young strangers.
What may rescue me?
Relationships true.
No one to deceive.
Nothing to make up.
No reason to lie.
They may rescue me.
Not an illusion
Of friendship conjured.
They remain distant,
No illusions made.
They may rescue me.
No need for contact,
For that would ruin it.
Keep our distance strong,
Companionship same.
They will rescue me.
In them I find peace,
Truth and loyalty.
They have no duty,
Only to themselves.
They have rescued me.
-Zero
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
The Unanswered Question
I feel squeezed. I feel trapped. Oh wait... I am trapped. I look around myself and see a barrier of a sort. I can't quite identify what it is. It looks almost as if it is not really there, but when I try to reach past it, something stops me from going any further. It doesn't really feel hard. Actually, it's soft like one of my friend's hands. I can't seem to place a name on who's hand, though.
I can't really remember how I ended up like this. I didn't notice it before. I know it wasn't here when I was a child, so I guess adulthood created it. But when I reach out again, that belief becomes doubtful. Why is it like this? Why does it mock the feeling of my friends' hands? They're all here, it seems, but just outside of the barrier. I can't reach them. Can they hear me?
"Hey! I'm trapped in here!" I yell out to them. They don't seem to notice. I guess they can't hear me. They'd help me otherwise. Maybe in order to get out, I have to become a child again. How do I do that? Wait, did I ever really grow up? I can't seem to remember anymore. Maybe I should give up. It's not so bad in here.
"Remember when we were kids?" A voice asks me. It wasn't one of my friends' voices. It was familiar but not nearly close enough to one of theirs. I smile and nod to the best of my ability. "What do you remember?"
"I remember being free. I could run about the woods as I pleased. I played with my old childhood friends from dawn to dusk. I hadn't a care in the world." A nostalgic smile spread across my face. It nearly mirrored the smile that I once had on my face at all times when I was younger.
"What has changed?" The voice questions again. I'm not sure what to reply. I hardly noticed the change happen. Maybe? No, that's crazy. "What has changed?" It asks again.
"I got old." I reply. It is the only reply that I could have mustered. It is the truth after all. At least, I think it is. It laughs. Its laugh is childish and actually kind of cute. It brings back memories all of a sudden. The memories of a girl that I had a crush on back in elementary school.
Her name was Sandra. I spent every recess with her. We'd run around the playground in summer, fall, and spring, and build snowmen, snow angels, and anything we could in the winter. We were happy. But then something happened. Her mother got a promotion at her work and in order to take the position she had to move across the country. I was heartbroken. We begged her mother to stay, but she wouldn't listen to us. By the end of elementary school, Sandra moved away. I never saw her again.
A tear forms in my left eye. It escapes it and runs down my cheek. I haven't felt tears in years. It's wet, but strangely warm. It falls from my chin and hits the barrier. Nothing happens. I wait and remember further. More tears fall. I miss her.
Something begins boiling deep within me. "Is that truly the reason?" The voice asks. I shake my head without really noticing. I feel the boiling getting stronger. I begin to shake because of it. "Is that truly the reason?"
"No." I spit out, still attempting to maintain my composure.
"Then what is?" It questions further, forcing me to dive deeper into the cause of my entrapment.
I feel the frustration begin to surface. It's not a frustration of hopelessness, however. It is the frustration that comes when one realizes that he/she has placed himself/himself in that position where they are trapped. The person becomes the jailor. My hands reach out to the barrier and feel it again. My eyes open.
They are holding me here. It is their hands that surround me and trap me. They can hear me. They just choose to ignore me. "My loneliness is the reason as they are empowered by this and thus trap me here."
"Can you break free?"
-Zero
I can't really remember how I ended up like this. I didn't notice it before. I know it wasn't here when I was a child, so I guess adulthood created it. But when I reach out again, that belief becomes doubtful. Why is it like this? Why does it mock the feeling of my friends' hands? They're all here, it seems, but just outside of the barrier. I can't reach them. Can they hear me?
"Hey! I'm trapped in here!" I yell out to them. They don't seem to notice. I guess they can't hear me. They'd help me otherwise. Maybe in order to get out, I have to become a child again. How do I do that? Wait, did I ever really grow up? I can't seem to remember anymore. Maybe I should give up. It's not so bad in here.
"Remember when we were kids?" A voice asks me. It wasn't one of my friends' voices. It was familiar but not nearly close enough to one of theirs. I smile and nod to the best of my ability. "What do you remember?"
"I remember being free. I could run about the woods as I pleased. I played with my old childhood friends from dawn to dusk. I hadn't a care in the world." A nostalgic smile spread across my face. It nearly mirrored the smile that I once had on my face at all times when I was younger.
"What has changed?" The voice questions again. I'm not sure what to reply. I hardly noticed the change happen. Maybe? No, that's crazy. "What has changed?" It asks again.
"I got old." I reply. It is the only reply that I could have mustered. It is the truth after all. At least, I think it is. It laughs. Its laugh is childish and actually kind of cute. It brings back memories all of a sudden. The memories of a girl that I had a crush on back in elementary school.
Her name was Sandra. I spent every recess with her. We'd run around the playground in summer, fall, and spring, and build snowmen, snow angels, and anything we could in the winter. We were happy. But then something happened. Her mother got a promotion at her work and in order to take the position she had to move across the country. I was heartbroken. We begged her mother to stay, but she wouldn't listen to us. By the end of elementary school, Sandra moved away. I never saw her again.
A tear forms in my left eye. It escapes it and runs down my cheek. I haven't felt tears in years. It's wet, but strangely warm. It falls from my chin and hits the barrier. Nothing happens. I wait and remember further. More tears fall. I miss her.
Something begins boiling deep within me. "Is that truly the reason?" The voice asks. I shake my head without really noticing. I feel the boiling getting stronger. I begin to shake because of it. "Is that truly the reason?"
"No." I spit out, still attempting to maintain my composure.
"Then what is?" It questions further, forcing me to dive deeper into the cause of my entrapment.
I feel the frustration begin to surface. It's not a frustration of hopelessness, however. It is the frustration that comes when one realizes that he/she has placed himself/himself in that position where they are trapped. The person becomes the jailor. My hands reach out to the barrier and feel it again. My eyes open.
They are holding me here. It is their hands that surround me and trap me. They can hear me. They just choose to ignore me. "My loneliness is the reason as they are empowered by this and thus trap me here."
"Can you break free?"
-Zero
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