Loss. Grief. Lesson.

She still remembers the day when he left. The rain poured as if the sky was lamenting their fates too. He had his things packed and ready to be loaded onto the vehicle.

            "I am miserable here. This doesn't feel like home anymore."

he had said, with eyes weary of a lover's agony. She had felt terrible of the very idea of their separation, but she knew how he felt, she was always aware of how he felt. Just as she is now, she was not sure then; if he didn't knew she wouldn't survive a day without him or was he just pretending to be a ruthless bastard. Did he remember what he had said when he was leaving? She did, she had carved those words on her heart and they just never seem to stop torturing her soul.

       "Stay. Stay for another day, just a few hours and a few more minutes." 

How can he forget the way she had begged of him to give her something more to reminisce later, when she suffers in the silence he would leave behind.

     "You have to go you know, it's getting dark out here. Mistress will see us, she'll be upset and angry with me."

he blurted out as he started walking towards the exit.

"Don't go, be someone. What about me?"

She was vexed with her inability to capture a last sketch of her beloved, a last glance of his face, his eyes and his smile, but who was she kidding, she has been as people tell her a reflection of his existence only not on the inside. Those words have molded her feelings towards him. Each day when she recalls those words she hates him even more. She doesn't hate him for doing what he did, she hates him for becoming who he was not. Those words ruined their lives, all she did was ponder on those words while she tried not to fall into the wide gaping hole he left behind. Those words, a bitter memory and an answer to their ambiguities

 "I am a slave; of my mistress, of love."

Edvard Munch Gallery

Of Dragging Days.

There is thing about subtleness, the more you subject yourself to it, the harder it backfires. Days; shorter as they seem and longer as they are, never intermingle with deliriousness. Deliriousness though, moves parallel with their superficial nature. There have been clarifications, elucidations and verifications of men and monsters, youth and age, liars and cheaters, life and death; but they have been limited and restricted to utter seriousness. Maybe the world seems a better place when channeling forceful streams unto the paper. Do we or don't we defy a day that drags like a corpse along a dry pavement? A muddy alley, many times maybe, but do we be grateful for when we're pledged? 

Lisa Greenstein's Art

Of a dragging day if I must, it is more like the sun has ran out of power, more like it doth not prefer rising at an early hour. Ironic would it be if a dragging day, is anything but children playing in the sun and spawning rascals all around wetting their wits. For when a day drags, it seems like the clock hath sharpened its ticking while the lousy sleepers snore deliberately unto its combat. Dear Lord, when a dragging day needed be spent around rascals and bums! With their wit and the cheekiness, delinquency doth come! For when a dragging day consumes whatever hath left of their mischievousness, those wretches I swear crawl back into their holes. Phony aye! Echos the sounds of their snores, "belittle shall we, belittled were we", screams the the transiting day for those whores! For when a day drags pouch it for a rainy day, for when the rain comes; belittled are their souls like that of the forlorn hay. 

Of a dragging day if I must, it is more like snatching breath out of the lungs, sound away from the chords, music from the instruments, droplets out of the ocean and sanity out of maturity. A dragging day starts but so does it end, shall it or shan't it be treated like a disease? For when a disease strikes one is quite unaware, for when it takes the life why label it bigoted or unfair? Thus, of a dragging day, if we look unto it, my Lord are there a gazillion people who work around it? I suffer of a disease similar to a dragging day, loneliness the doctors say, I rather it being labeled as the state of withdrawal. But no matter what the reference, the cause remains the same, I am a patient of a bloody dragging day! 

No One Ever Knew.

She knew it followed her, everywhere, all the time. The 'Moon', she believed in, never actually did. The others thought it followed them too, but for her it was different. She felt protected, safe and was afraid of it as well. She was always linked to the moon in a manner nobody else was. She didn't feed it, she didn't put it to bed, she didn't memorize its symphonies but she believed in it. She was ungrateful but never unwelcome, but she was pledged as well. Something happened, scientific maybe or ludicrous indeed, she thought she cheated but what was the deed? No one ever knew, but she blamed the stars if I must. The stars, she said had always tried to break this never ending bond she shared with the moon. Was this an unsubstantiated allegation made out of misery, or one made out of pretentiousness just like a flower with a foul odor?! Well, no one ever knew. "The stars oh love! the stars!", she screamed and her voiced was heard stretching to the very corners of the sky! The moon was disappointed if I must say it was upset, and so were the seas never put to rest. The roaring seas and the growling sky were to be patiently endured, but did she so? Yes, if I must say, yes, but no one ever knew. She was confused, she was awakened, she was ashamed, she was obsessed, she lay low, she grieved deep, she bent forth, but did she lose faith? Well, not that she confessed, but no one ever knew!