22 Diaries. Story seven

Dear Reader. I must tell you, that nothing is for free in this world.

When you feel like something came easily to you, that should be a warning sign to you. For things that come easily are never worth it and, sooner or later, you’re going to pay for them. Except the price will be high. You’ll pay with your tears, with blood and flesh. They will leave you scarred for life.

How do I move on now, when all I feel is your warm embrace. When all I feel is your cheek on my cheek.

You broke me, drained the energy out of me, took away all my warmth. What do I have now, when I have nothing? When I don’t have you…

Perhaps, caring too much is my problem. Caring about things that aren’t mine… and will never be.

Just be an icicle. Exchange smiles. But stay indifferent. Like they all do. Hate everything and everyone around you, so that it’ll be easier to just leave. Is that the solution?

Perhaps, I shouldn’t have treated you like a friend. Perhaps, you shouldn’t have acted like my friend.

Tell me now, why shouldn’t I crawl back in the shell, not showing any signs of interest anymore.

I wish I could say I don’t care. I wish I could say I don’t… But I still want to be… I want you to be around.

But the only thing around me right now is the emptiness and the memory of your face leaning against mine.

The open wound in my stomach, dripping with rust on the fluffy surface of the conversations that never took place.

Remember, nothing is for free in this world.

22 Diaries. Story six

What people in your life really mean to you?

your family, your friends, your colleagues

Do you even have any friends?

Friends who never let go and never let you feel the cold. Friends whom you feel safe with. Friends whom you feel free with.

content isn’t enough

They talk to you through the clouds, not through the metal that makes them blind.

I cannot recall.

But I exactly remember the day everything ended. I remember how it made me feel.

How can I say a word now? When all you want me to be is a silent machine of your imagination.

You told me once to always say how I’m feeling. My truths are blunt, though.

Sorry should I feel…
or say.

However, I’m not the one whose words float in the air.

Careless. Like the soul that never found its home.

Understanding. It’s what you expect, giving a shake of your hand in exchange.

and that’s all

Everything we’ve had. Everything we’ve built. There’s no room for it anymore. Even on the dusty shelf of the forgotten.

Shall I stay put, even though the words were never said. But the leaves that fell from the trees cannot grow back on them.

Being still in your arms, I should feel love, happiness and safety. But all I feel is nothing.

Splinters of the shallow and mute guard that are still stuck in my skin.

They will remain only splinters.

and that’s all

© W. Donovan

22 Diaries. Story five

What is a home? Where is your home?

You meticulously build your life around things and people that you know well, hoping they will never going to change. Since there was too many unwanted changes in your life. Since you’ve come out from nowhere, you plan to head somewhere. To a place that actually matters.

Eventually, you feel like you belong somewhere, like you’re in the right place. Wanted and appreciated, you know you’re going to be safe. You cosy up with the comfort in your mind, the comfort that they created.

Little do you know whom you surround yourself with. Cold-hearted people with warm smiles and welcoming arms, pretending to be your friends. Always saying the words that you want to hear, but not doing a thing.

Suddenly, you find yourself grasping for a breath when a huge spider jumps on your face and you don’t have a chance to defend yourself. All the arguments that they listen to only selectively. Again, nothing matters anymore.

Abandoned. Always unwanted. Desperately trying to belong somewhere, you blindly meander around the wrong people who know how to use you. Who suck the energy out of you and then throw you in the landfill.

Where once the home was, now there’s a hole stuffed with shredded photos that you used to take. And you realize that the only human you can rely on is yourself. And the things that you can safely surround yourself with are some old furniture and a rabbit.

© W. Donovan

22 Diaries. Story four

and you showed me
and you told me
Born in sunshine
where everything is bright and warm.
Not born in darkness
left on its own in cold.
where I don’t belong
where I should head next
Perhaps the only thing I should want
is not to want anything.
the unreal views
mixed with dreams
like a herbal tea
mixed with poison
where does it take me
to another dimension
where I cannot remember anything
where I have to start all over
Rarely crossing paths with the light
I always shut my eyes.
Perhaps I’m wrong
and everyone around me is right.
not to grow any further
that’s what you’re telling me
just be
right here
right now
to cherish every moment
however dull
however boring
however depressing
You ungrateful bitch.
just stuck in limbo
drafting lines
the ideas in my head
should have been
just ideas in my head
Stick to the rules
follow the followers.

© W. Donovan

22 Diaries. Story three

I’ve lived mostly in my head lately. Don’t ask me where I’ve been. Don’t ask me how far away.

Have we talked? Have I imagined it. I never say what hurts me, but what hurts me the most is the relationship that we’ll never have. Because of me. Because you’re somebody else.

What I long for is the light.

It doesn’t matter how long I’ve been here for and how many creatures I’ve made up. Even one is one too many. How destructive for my sanity to dream of stars that never shine for me.

What I long for is flesh.

I don’t want to say you pushed me there. You probably didn’t. It’s just… the chemicals in my brain have been inconsistent. But I swear I saw it in your eyes, and now I’m trying not to want. Not to expect anything from hands that never touched my body.

I wish I could say it was something because it definitely was something in my head. Except things in my head are always easy, always vivid, always bright. Never real.

You were unreal in my head.

© W. Donovan

22 Diaries. Story one

You wake up one day and you realize that you slept in again. You open your eyes for a minute only to shut them again, while you step onto the spinning wheel.

You wake up one day and you realize that it’s to late to change anything. It’s too late to unknown things that you’ve already discovered, and you want them to become mystery again.

All the lies that you were told about life, they spread inside you like tentacles, ready to grasp. Everyone tells you that life becomes more with time, but you actually learn that everything becomes less.

If you thought that being an adult would make you free, you were wrong. Because you were told what to become, the decision didn’t belong to you. And the person who tells you to keep your eyes shut when you wake up is actually not you.

You can do whatever you want, but the only thing that stops you is the thing that you cannot do. Which is getting up in the morning with your eyes open.

Maybe…

Maybe I’m the one who’s not normal
wrapped in delusions
speaking the language of nightmares.

Maybe we shouldn’t talk
neither listen
just blankly stare at each other.

Maybe I’m the one who’s fake
pretending to enjoy your company
while daydreaming.

Maybe we shouldn’t smile
just write
symbols with our thumbs.

Maybe I’m the one who’s cold
indifferently
looking you in the eye.

Maybe we shouldn’t hug
just draw
marks on our skin.

Maybe…

Glass corridors

‘I don’t like people’ I told you once. But I lied. I lied to you. And I lied to myself.

Being on my own. That’s what I like best. I know you don’t understand it. I don’t expect you to. But I’m not going to explain it to you. I’m sorry.

But being on my own surrounded by people is a completely different thing. I walk the glass hallway everyday. It’s made me deaf and blind. It’s made me invisible. Yes, I know it’s partly my fault.

Sitting on the pavements, they are somewhere. Who are they if not humans? Just a smile and a few words. Is that too much to ask?

You told me that I’m part of the team now. But I don’t feel like part of anything. Just a crack on the wall. Everyone knows it’s there, but everyone ignores it.

I sometimes imagine talking to you. Not about obviousness. About things you probably wouldn’t want to talk about. That’s why this dream can never be fulfilled. And that is what makes me sad.

Sitting in the corner of the room, I can only spin the wheel of fortune. Shall I come out to smell the sweet scent of rosehips. Shall I stay hidden in the endless corridors of my fears.

Always drifting and talking to the figments of my imagination.

everything I am not

I’m living in a Disney movie

Everyone knows the Cinderella movie, right? The story about a girl who was treated unfairly by people she believed had power over her. Wiping furniture, scrubbing floors and cooking meals. That was her destiny that she couldn’t do much about at that time.

Do you think she liked it? I guess, we’ll never know. Maybe she didn’t like it. Maybe she just wanted to run away. Maybe she missed her father. Maybe she wanted not to be. Maybe she felt lonely. Or maybe she was just grateful for everything she had. I guess, we’ll never know.

She was rescued eventually, though. The prince on the white horse appeared magically and salvaged her from the miserable life. He was charming, handsome and so nice to her. He gave her all his attention. He smiled to her like she was the only woman he ever loved. He put her in the centre of his world. Flattering, isn’t it?

She was led on the wings of love. Her life finally changed for better. She was living in a dream, so wonderful, she couldn’t have even imagined.

So, this is it. She moves into the castle and can expect all the beautiful things happen in her life. This is the beginning of her new life. At least, that’s what Disney makes us to believe in, right?

I want to believe that they lived happily ever after. I really do. But life shows differently. Everything ends when the story ends. The castle is cold, it blinds the girl and devours her heart. It’s like a cage where she can only look out the window and watch life happening without her. The prince turns into a heartless stone sucking in every trace of joy from her body. Watching shallow, boring reflection in the mirror every day, the only thing she can have is a lie. Fake smiles, fake conversations, fake love. Is that what she really wanted?

Be careful what you ask for.

Be careful what you wish for.

A pile of dust.

In case you were wondering.