New Eves.

I had gotten close to her so she wanted me there.

Dresses were worn and drinks were downed and a good time was had. from then across the room they were with his now sore red eyes and his thinned face and her neat fringe and can in hand.
He stared at me like he had forgotten that we had used to walk along the rivers together and that he had told me those 3 words that I don’t seem to trust anymore.

I covered myself in whatever I could find to make his destroyed image disappear.

6 bottles in the kitchen. 3 puffs outside.

A young adult leading me to a bedroom that later seemed to disappear.

A countdown then came and just to be lame – a kiss was had with a stranger in hopes to just forget.

The last time I saw them that night was in the centre kissing in the light and not letting go of their hands.

I left and threw it up with my friend by my side and fell asleep next to a friend on a bench beside our river.

Advertisements

Christmas Is For Friends.

This year just before Christmas, we decided that we didn’t want to say “happy holidays” over Facebook, but be there. all together.

So, at 11.35pm on Christmas Eve, we found ourselves sneaking out of our homes and to her house, where we all clambered to the roof and possibly scaring off Old Saint Nick.

At the stroke of midnight, the eight of us were laid there in silence, watching the world be still for a moment. Quietly wishing the cars passing by “Merry Christmas” and thanking the stars for our existence.
Not one of us spoke for a long time, in fact seven of us fell asleep right there on the flattened roof.
It was me who finally disturbed their unbroken dreams at around 4.23am and we all clambered off the roof groggily, totally oblivious to that beautiful ten minutes 4 hours ago.
Maybe it seemed oblivious, because to them it might not have been magical. In fact they may have found it odd. But I like to believe and I will always believe that that was one of the best Christmases I have ever woken up to.

Holiday Wonders.

Christmas seems like a nice tradition, right? A time for kicking you’re heels back and just saying “f*** it.”. Wrong.

Right now, christmas is a burden on my mind that is causing me to lose face. Why you ask?
Well, between all the exam revision, the typical “boy troubles”, the late nights, work and the endless episodes on Netflix, I have zero time to begin even thinking about it.

Plus, the constant nagging from my currently disabled father about whether the lights are straight or the sainsuburys order has come in, Christmas isn’t seeming too thrilling.

However, there is that essence of wonder behind those twinkling lights and the many shopping bags, that leaves a question unanswered – What is Christmas all about?

Popular belief suggests that it is about family. Other more greedy souls suggests it’s about the gift they may or may not receive. Everyone else says that it is just another holiday.
But, to all these I disagree. Christmas for me is just an excuse to pretend you’re happy.

Happy Holidays.

Unmetaphorical means.

There’s a certain warmth that comes with metaphors. It makes it easier to handle the truth. It makes it more simple to describe your situations.

There’s a time, though, when you realise that you can’t carry on using them. They drive you crazy. They make you believe the wrong thing. They cause you to tread on unprotected grounds in which people say they understand but they really don’t because of a thing called interpretation.

Just don’t use metaphors.

Messy Minds.

My mind is mess right now, but at the same time it feels as though its just empty space in my head. I want to be in a dark room with a bunch of smiling faces surrounding me dancing to music I would otherwise hate but I am stuck in this purple bedroom hoping for someone to ask me to spread some light outside. I continue as I do, but differently. A fake smile on my face and a false bounce in my step that isn’t meant to surprise anyone because I am an overly optimistic person usually. No ones seen me fake anything before so how would they recognise it now? I’m writing this down but not thinking at all just writing each word at a time and not thinking about the last…or the next. And that sounds like a metaphor but I don’t believe it is and you shouldn’t believe that either. I just.want to be enfolded in friendly, warm, familiar arms that I just can’t seem to find in all this darkness. And I want to be there in these arms not knowing anything else but them. And I want to understand what I see and say and do and write and sing and draw and think. Because right now it is 27 degrees in my head but out here it’s only 14. And I want someone to tell me why that is and not have to have me find that out for myself. And I want that person to be that person with the warm, friendly, familiar arms that dances with me in a purple room to music that I would otherwise hate and I want this person to be able to see through the fake smile and the false bounce, to me.

Realisation .

PAST FEW MONTHS UPDATE:
guywalksriversunsetsfiominglearningcourseworkdrawingreadingloveloststairsjustfriendsforgivnessforgetnessnewthingsand tonight.

2 hours I went into a dark room and listened to music I would otherwise hate and met a bunch of people that could have liked me and was accepted as one them as an outsider.
Then I saw him, the guy I gave up with a new girl on his shoulder that i hated but not really. How could I when she was so sweet.
The clock ticked and the music dropped and drinks were turned topsy turvy and they were sat over there in a corner talking about whatever it is those people talked about.
I thought I would handle it but tears just came out like they had a mind of their own and that they didn’t care who saw them.
Two flights up it was cold and full of smoked smoke, a message sent that I shouldn’t meant and tears dropped that were unneeded.
Two flights of stairs back down a conversation had and no two in the corner to remind me of that bittersweet feeling of jealousy that feeling that would never unrequitedly come out without a good reason.
The two people “f***** off to f***” the person that I hate but not really and the boy that can never be described as just a best friend ever again.
I want to ruin her but that would ruin him and if he was ruined. Then so would I.

I guess it’s true that you never know how much you love someone until you see a short black haired artist sitting on his lap and playing with his hair.