18 Months

Have you ever been caught in a storm, at the sea?

You get soaked first, no matter how fancy is the waterproof in your clothes.

You perk up and you can see a little glimpse of light, the shore which is far away but reachable still. 

So you try to get grip of the oars, but your hands are wet and the tides are strong, and sooner than later, they take the oars away.

And before you can make any sense of the situation, your boat gets flipped, and along with the tides everything goes, even your hopes. 

The under current sweeps you away and seem to be caught between half drawning and being half conscious. 

The tides are dark and you can't make a thing.

But survival instinct is a thing so you kick your legs and you move your arms. You thrust yourself upwards, you aim for the surface, a glimpse of the sky. 

And kick and you fight and when you finally make it, the storm is still there.

More water splashing on your face. The rain is heavy and the drops are sharp. Waves crash on you and there's no one to see you scream. There's no one to hear you cry. 

Exhaustion wins over and you want to move but it fails you.

You start drowning and as water fills your lungs you give up the fight. 

And you realize that before you wash up on the shore, the current will drag you down and drown you.

And you realize, you ever only had yourself but now you no longer do.

So... You just... Stop.

Gaslight

They painted a world

Bright and colorful

Sprinkled with smiles 

And subtle melodies

Nice gestures 

And pleasant policies 

But in just one concealed blob,

The colours started to fade

And the smile turned two-faced.

In that just one blob,

The melodies turned to a deafening silence

And the gestures, a trap in the dark.

The truth now so hard to see

Was placed in my hands;

A sharp knife to cut myself free,

but which instead bled my hands and sliced my feet.

It's no wonder

That I feel as if I can't breathe.

My deepest wish,

that I would simply cease to be.

Blinding silence

Oh, my heart, my dear heart,

What is it that you deeply crave for?

Whose face and voice and warmth do you miss so?

Oh, dear child,

For you are only a child in your soul--

This is an answer you know all too well!

For very few things escape the eye of a child.

Only they forget easily...

And isn't oblivion the truest of the blessings?

I crave what we always craved:

The warmth and scent of a skin 

That ports us so easily into a dream;

The voice and words of a mind

That is as fascinating as it is kind;

The eyes, the smile and the face,

That steals our control over our own heart's pace;

We always loved the rain on a cold grey day

But isn't it thrilling

When our soul is filled with a non-ordinary passion,

that can only come from a corresponded feeling,

like flowers on the Spring of May?

Oh, dear child,

I beat sadly, but hopeful,

Because we've farred, 

we lived and loved,

and we risked it all.

We took a gamble, 

and seized every moment of it,

Ever so reliant, ever so capable.

You did so well,

You gave your best,

No matter if all we had left

Was a tragic tale

And a little remain of ourselves.

As well as the knowledge

That we miss that half that no one else resembles,

Not even that half itself.

Still, we remain,

Praying for a good dream,

Every now and again,

Perhaps even in this life's stream.

(written on March 10th)