Silence...

Silence. Silence is all I hear when I find myself at peace. I've never heard so many harmonious sounds at the same time than in the symphony of empty notes and hollow beats in silence; which leads me to conclude that peace only exists in nothing. Mankind, more specifically myself, is incapable of ever-lasting tranquility. The waters will never be placid, and the sounds of my heart will never coalesce with the sounds of this world. I let the silence surround me and I feel safe. No future: no expectations: no regrets: no misery. My reality is black and it is only when I lose myself in this ever so hypnotizing silence that I see an explosion of aura and color. I want to lose myself in the abyss; close my eyes and lose this burden of responsibility and accountability. It is so exhausting to be coerced into patience to allow "fate" to dictate my future; ironic. I want to take fate into my own hands. If reality won't end the incessant screams coming from within this core of loathing and self-disgust or from the whispers of hate and intimidation that ooze from their lips like sap dripping from an innocent, juvenile cherry blossom tree that has horrifyingly endured the bearing of a knife to its rugged yet delicate exterior, then I will no longer be patient. This patience only pilfers my sanity; only wilts the budding blossoms off that mesmerizing cherry blossom tree. What is more beautiful than to protect that callow cherry blossom tree and ensure it never again is to be scarred or disfigured? I will rip that cherry blossom tree from its roots and lay it in fire. Let it feel the loving caress of flame as it is consumed by silence and the welcoming universality of nothingness. 

Nothingness - such a beautiful notion. I long to feel its weightlessness and hear its silence. And yet, even with such a beauty I am viewed as demented and deranged. This world is not ready for the capacious reality that is nothingness. And unfortunately I cannot bear the chaos of this reality for it is has robbed me of my senses; it has stolen my soul and abandoned my naked and shivering body in refuse. I have been condemned by this reality; poisoned and forced to watch as my skin erodes itself, exposing my flesh for fodder to the crows and my bones to chafe into dust. I can only survive by sacrificing myself to the nothingness - a sacrifice for my salvation. 

The Dove...

To ponder on one's past indiscretions means to not have forgiven one's self. To plead for an opportunity to change the course of the past means to not have accepted what is. I can lie by myself at night, longing for the warmth and tenderness of his embrace, and only hope that I become enlightened by such "words of wisdom";  though my heart speaks otherwise. I have accepted my fate: I have forgiven my sins - for these sins are the essence of who I am in this very moment. Who I was is what drove that warmth away. I was the suicidal knife that stabbed the beating heart of the very love I long to rekindle. I was the insatiable flame that crept up and burned down the very future we planned together. I was the murderer, he the victim. I was the sinner. And as I have rambled on many times before this, the distinction between mistake and lesson is a very fine line only contrasted from one another by the very sinner themselves. Choose to learn from such mistakes and let the tears and memories become the forest in which the sacred dove is protected.

In such a way, I am forever indebted to that broken-hearted man who still bears the burden of my love; who still burdens for my love. Without you, I would be nothing. And for as many times as these words have tripped from my lips and fallen so carelessly into your pleading hands, and for as many times as I fought for their sanctity and genuine validity, they have never been more true. As much as I long to harbor that dove away in a cage, scared to allow it upon a wandering eye or lustful grip, I must let it fly. I so hope to see that dove soaring in the clouds: winding around sinuous mountain caps: feeling the warmth and light of my very love on its wings. All I can do, is know that dove is strong and majestic, and one day may return to perch itself upon my shoulder.

In the meantime, I will hold my head high. These may be wounds deep in my skin, but the blood I bleed is not tainted with despair and regret. This blood is blessed with truth and understanding. I have forgiven my sins, and I do not wish to change the past; merely walk a path towards a future with you. Whether friend or foe, love or hate - no matter how you see me, I will always be there. I will from this point on always bear the soul you knew lay dormant in these veins. My will may have been weak, but to have endured so many fatal blows: to have lost so much blood: to have been wounded and scarred beyond recognition, these beating chambers still beat. And most importantly, I will always love you.

So fly my dove; with your feathers white as snow and eyes as deep as my love for you. I do not mind my feet upon this ground, for I will forever be able to watch you soar. Maybe one day you will rest your wings and perch yourself upon my shoulder.