Yellow

After the mourning has passed, the colors seem to have faded and they’re splattered all over the world. But on an excessively bright day, in a very tiny town in the middle of nowhere, all I can see is yellow. Her favorite color was yellow. It hurts to mention her still because the wound is trying to scab but I must. I must because I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to forget the feeling of her presence. Her perfect hair, how she did her makeup and how when she saw me, there was only love. No matter what we did, she’d say that family was born forgiven. Last night I dreamt with her. She was alive and I was in shock. And I asked her what was happening and she said: “Sweetheart, I’m never going to die.”

I’m sure she’s kissing the lilies as she’s waking up. She looks around and whenever she wants to see yellow, it’s there; the perfect shade of yellow. Her youth is back and her high heels on. Her hair is yellow and her glasses gone. She’s surrounded by gold and the very few flaws she had here, gone. She’d like to talk to us and she will. Oh how she will.

It’s been cloudy here. I’ve been looking for stars but can’t find them. I’m excited for November. That was her month and that’s when all the stars decide to shine the brightest. This November I’ll be like a kid waiting to find the brightest star and not only talk to her but have her show me the way. The way to love,  the way to passion, the way to live.

Out of all the things she created on this Earth, one was the greatest: an angel with pink wings. This pink angel flies around helping others, expecting the best to happen. Many try to shoot her down because they do not like what they cannot understand, but they don’t succeed because they cannot really see her or her wings. She moves faster than light. You can’t kill what you can’t see. Only two people look up and can actually see her. And when they do, they’re mesmerized.

Yellow had to fight for her unique existence. Pink has to fight for hers. I probably will have to fight for mine, I already do. I can look at these three lives from the past present and future, I know their worth. And if fighting for survival means at least touching and saving one life, it’s worth it. I’ll do it.

Yesterday, the only color I could see was yellow. Today, it’s yellow and pink. I hope tomorrow purple will show up and then slowly all the colors of the rainbow will be back. It’s a slow process but it’s not about the speed, it’s about the beauty we’re able to capture in each and every moment. I’m capturing this one. It can be bright, it can be dark. But it certainly has an endless amount of love.

Advertisements

Killers

I would kill to make you feel, Amanda says.

I wouldn’t kill a mosquito, Chris says.

She’d never kill a soul, or so she says.

He killed my heart, I know that for a fact.

We talk about killing all the time. A part of us dies sometimes and we never even make enough time to mourn. Amanda once stepped on a dying bird; even though she’s not the killing type. Chris doesn’t kill any mosquitoes but he kills friendships, all the time. I’ve seen him do it more than once…but he’s not the killing type either.

She said she’d never kill a soul because her father left her feeling empty and so she killed her own. Beware. He killed my heart. He didn’t break it, he killed it. Did he care? Not enough.

Just because you’re very good at justifying your beliefs doesn’t make it right. Just because you’re not the killing type doesn’t mean you’re not a killer. Amanda is a genius. She shows death in a different shade of red. She understands. She sheds light on raw emotions, my favorite kind.

Be careful what you kill; you might want it back. It doesn’t matter if you want it back, you’ve given it away. I don’t know why Amanda is such a wonderful lyricist. A mystery as unknown as her killer.

15/15

It’s coming. Like the largest wave waiting to run you over, it’s coming. You can’t stop what’s coming, can’t stop what is on its way. The bells are ringing and it’s time.

The Bell Collector doesn’t know any better but to call on those who are up. He comes ringing the bells and as much as you try to run, you can hear it from a distance. He’s 15 days away. This time it’s a round number and it’s one that they’ve taught us to fear. The Bell Collector always shows up in the middle of the street. He knows where I am and he expects me to meet him halfway. Maybe that’s why I’m always expected to meet life in the middle. Maybe that’s why, once I’ve done my part, I expect others to do the same.

I can hear the bells and they are ringing 30 times. Once I meet him, he’ll ring them 15 times and then hand me the bells for me to ring them 15 times. It’s 30 and there’s much to think about. He doesn’t ring the bells only because he can but to remind me of who I am and what I’ve done. He’s given me 30 chances to live and wants to know what I have to show for it. After the assessment, he’ll decide how much longer my heart will beat. He knows but he won’t tell me. He simply rings his bells and carries on calmly. I wish his face had more of an expression but it doesn’t, it’s not supposed to. When people ask him how much longer they’ll live, he pulls out a mirror and shows them a reflection of themselves. What does this mean? Well, I guess he wants us to know we hold the keys and all we can do is our best and hope it’ll be just enough.

It’s 15 days away and I can hear the bells for her, for me. She’s currently wearing yellow and purple and is going to dye her hair jet black. She’s never been fond of lukewarm. It’s either ice cold or scorching hot.

The bells might have a somewhat scary sound but the fact that we can hear them is a sign that we’re alive. The fact that they’re coming means we still have time. Time for what I wonder? Time for whatever we want this moment to be. Time to wake up and care only about the matters of the heart and soul.

Eventually the bells will stop ringing and hopefully then we’ll have done everything the Bell Collector expected us to do. He’ll finally smile knowing that he rang the bells not only many times but with all the power he held. And then we’ll know that the golden bells were always ringing just for us to remember.

Projection

She made a horrible mistake. She doesn’t know how she got here and she’s lost. She lost her home and her head. Not sure why, but she did. She was lost and because of it, she hurt herself. Pain was caused because she thought she knew better than this.

He never made a mistake. He doesn’t know why but he never took a chance on life. He had a home and never left the nest. He wasn’t sure why but he never did it, the living thing.

She bled and had red in her hands.

His hands were perfectly clean, so he decided to make her bleed instead. He had too much pain hidden within so he didn’t know what else to do but make her bleed too. She thought she let him in because he understood. But it turns out he only made her bleed more. He didn’t do it on purpose, but he did do it.

Because he had a paralyzing fear to live, he gave her a brand new scar. Because his pain was unbearable, he projected himself unto her.

They thought they were the same, but they were not. She was light, he was darkness; she was life, he was death. They played happily together for a while until their opposite sides called them back. It was time to go home for supper.

It was time for her to step into the light fully. It was time for him to hide in his cave where he felt safe. Little did he know; his demons were hiding in the darkness. What will happen to him? She would never know.

They make us suffer, the hurters. They feel entitled to hurt others because they’ve been so badly hurt. They make those who are the closest, bleed. They might never change but distance between what’s right and wrong should become obvious.

Don’t play with her blood, don’t mess with her head. You might love her but if you can’t love her right, let her heart remain pure all on its own. You might need somewhere to project your heartbreaking story, but her heart is not the place.

I will let you go because your part in my story is over. And I hope you find a way to stop internally bleeding and start projecting a happier story. One with a bit more light in it.

Amongst the dead

I wake up, grab a coffee and I observe the life around me. The trees smile at me always, the sky shines through with light. I wear clothes that fit my mood. I combine the black and white with the color of the day. An angel speaks words of wisdom and I’m ready to start. I walk through the gate and the guards unchain the locks. The closer I get to the top of the building on the 3rd floor, the more the colors start to fade. The trees and flowers start to wither the closer I get to the cage on the 3rd floor. Birds that fly around the cage try to come in but die when they try to do so. No animals could ever survive the cage found on the third level because the air is too thick for any living creature to survive for long.

I desperately try to hold on to the life from within and remember what the green is supposed to look like. It is not the green from the fake trees surrounding the cage where I currently am. Eight others seem to be here. Some still remember what life was like. Others have completely decided to die in order to survive and make it easier on themselves. The shortest one is dead from within. She is so far gone that her skin is dry and dead. Her inner death seems to be catching up with her exterior. She used to live in a different cage where she had already died, so this cage is simply a different stage for her to continue being eternally soulless. The others used to be alive. But unfortunately most of them have forgotten.

When amongst the dead, I am tempted to forget what life truly is. But then a spark from within reminds me to hold on. The plastic trees will never give me air; the cage will never be a home and the dead will never inspire anything worth remembering. When former living souls choose to die, they are lost. Their souls can never function the way they’re supposed to.

Against all odds, I’m still alive. But the dead are trying to kill me and my ways; the short one tries to kill me with her lack of expression; the tall one with her emotional imbalance and the rest of them with their deep misery and frustration. Yes, they try but they will fail. Soon enough I’ll join the living once again and smile knowing I never gave up on life and that life can survive even in the presence of death.