30.6.11

Mare Mortis

.

if you have to ask, you’ll never understand. when it’s your name being sewn into the corners of my mouth, the tips of my fingers. the fabric of my heart. that’s why i won’t sing anymore. that’s why i wear these clenched fists.

.

maremortis-pola

.

that’s why it hurts to breathe.

.

23.6.11

The Last Time He Saw Dorie

.

this suitcase is empty. if i wanted to, i could climb into it and lie there with my knees tucked under my chin until someone tipped me out.

this heart is empty. if you wanted to, you could climb into it and stay there forever with my hands and your hands and the way we used to look at each other when we thought we knew everything there was to know about love.

.

lasttimehesawdorie-pola

.

two more days until i’m home again.

.

22.6.11

Daniel

.

daniel-pola

.

there is something about sadness that is addictive to me. personal unhappiness cuts the deepest, but i can feed off someone else’s bitterness too. it’s a fine line though between encouraging it and merely observing. i sit there day after day, listening to the sound of their voices (hearts?) breaking and i still can’t get enough of it.

maybe because it makes them more relatable. after all those years of people mocking me for wearing my heart on a shiny red button, it’s almost comforting to know that fragility is a human trait.

and yes, i am disappointed that i relapse so violently every now and then. it’s  funny… i keep thinking that i’ve moved on but then those strings are still there, pulling me back into place.

here’s something to laugh at though. today’s string was unbearable spelling exacerbated by simon & garfunkel. i’m a sucker for a misspelled word.

.