I remember your face I remember how humid It was that night How the music kept playing in the background I remember we were the only ones on the floor that night But that didn't seem matter, Nor did we realise it. I remember how hot your breath felt against the side of my neck. I remember breathing in the musky smell of perfume as I pressed my face against your coat that gently hugged your chest. I remember your racing heart And your deep breaths I remember feeling you stiffen against my thigh I remember how I didn't think of him that night Or the 'Goodnight baby' message that I ignored I remember your beard and how it felt against my cheeks How your hands gently grasped my hips as you took a deep breath against my bare skin. And at that moment I knew you had undressed me Several times in your head Before you asked me to dance I remember smiling I remember being happy Not the kind that lasts a minute and goes away the next But the kind that makes your chest light and your head dizzy. I remember wanting more of you that night. I remember your eyes and how they mesmerized mine I remember how we did nothing but dance, As if dancing was the only sort of love we needed to express at that moment. And that was enough Enough to keep the fire lit Enough to keep the lights on Enough to strip you Bit by bit. Yours truly, Painted Shadow
First we build and build and build. And then we watch it all fall down. We build relationships, we build houses, we build dreams. And then one by one, sooner or later they all come crashing down till you’re left with nothing but memories of what it used to be. Memories of who you were.Cause after all that’s happened to you, and after all the crashing and the tumbling, you’re a different person. You either learn to build from what you broke or you don’t but then you keep breaking it over and over again till you’re left with absolutely nothing. Nothing but your bones and your flesh. Your broken bones and raw flesh. And for a while, even that’s enough. That’s company itself, until you get used to it. Then it’s not. Then its just the same old routine and you want more. you keep wanting more. and more. Sometimes you get more. Just sometimes.
Thing is, we can’t stop building. Every day we build something new. We either strengthen a friendship or weaken it. We either end our dream or get one step closer to it. We’re always building something whether we want to or not. Whether we like it or not. And who’s to say it doesn’t make us who we are? Who’s to say it doesn’t make us whole? Cause it does. It all does. We build to break and learn to build again. Its inevitable. Isn’t it?
I’m thinking. I’m thinking because while cleaning my room, I came across things that didn’t matter and I came across things I wished I didn’t come across.I take it back.Those things did matter. They mattered very much. The things I wished were buried somewhere in a place where I’d never have to find them again. But then again, deep down I wished that there would be a valid reason for me to find them and hold them once again. That’s why I kept them.I kept them so I could look back and think about the joys of teen life, think about highschool and the things we did, and the laughter would still echo through my mind. I kept them so that I’ll have something that actually belonged to me. They’re MY memories. MINE. I kept them because I like to hold on to things that were in the past. because it reminds me how far I’ve come. and what I’ve been through. it reminds who was by my side when I needed someone the most. it reminds of loved and lost. it reminds me of happier, simpler times. Thats what I kept things that matter to me. things my dad refers to as ”junk”. He’ll never know how much my ”junk” means to me. how much I rely on them for hope. Thats why I didn’t throw them out as he asked to. I rebelled. I brought them in to the new house we just shifted to. I brought them against his will. against his mumblings that I have too much junk in my room. So I told him, trying not to sound like I have an”attitude’ (as I have been claimed to be having in the past). I told him, one man’s junk is another man’s Treasure. it’s not the exact saying. so I altered it a bit. just a bit though. the original was One man’s food is another man’s poison. So I make sense right. Its MY memories. It’s not junk. Its my treasures. I like holding on to the past. It’s not healthy. I know. but it’s not healthy only when you start living your life like it was in the past. I’m not doing that.I’m not living on to the past. Holding on to it is different.
Anyways, back to the nostalgic feeling this brought to me. I thought that I’ll be able to look back and smile. But I didn’t smile. nothing close to smiling. I showed no feeling. no positive feeling at least. my heart flipped as I went through all the papers, notes, pictures. So, now im sitting here wondering when I’ll be able to look through those things, my ‘junk’ , and not be sad. when will it be okay to reminisce and not feel sad about it? a year? two? twenty? probably. probably, long after i left it all behind. And maybe then, I’ll be able to reminisce happily. and not let a single sad tear fall down my cheek.