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stronger than dirt? - http://turkeyphant.livejournal.com/
stronger than dirt?
somebody wake me up the dream is growing cold
and the night is all we have left to hold
somebody sail this ship navigate this crowd
for what i once saw as land i see as cloud

but i am stronger than you and i am braver than you
and i will still be here when the dust has cleared will you?

(you will never get close to me)
(this is who we are)


~


Grah, forgive me, but being here I'm just unable to escape the general overbearing apathy of it all. Maybe I should try harder - even I can look back and see how foolish constantly resorting to angst is, and it embarrasses me. But this is so much easier, almost reassuring, and still the void aches. The thing is, all I can remember is how much I used to love school. Now, while everyone goes out to have fun, I sit in my room and try to elicit pleasure out of talking to people I don't know. It's just so easy to blame this school on my own personal lackings.

Sometimes I long for public praise, for the release I envisage it will give me. Others, I go through one of those mood where I keep asking myself foolish questions with patently obvious explanations. No sooner have I started to consider my philosophical commentary, when I instantly realise the answers or the fallacious nature of the question itself. And all the time, I'm still unable to make rational considerations about things I consider important, both personal and impersonal.

And once again, I find I am brought back to considering why the fuck contrived character stereotypes are often so scarily accurate. Are we that far from uniqueness?

~

One day, my feigned happiness crumpled under its own weight and, at once, it all just came tumbling painfully down. All I wanted to do was be able to cry for once and to sleep for hours. Of course, I didn't. But still, I knew I was having a mid-life crisis.

I remembered back to all those wonderful times I never wanted to leave RGS. Where have those great days gone? What happened to the times at school when I just loved feeling alive? What good is a sunny day when you have no one to share it with?

The truth is, as I'm increasingly forced to realise, they never really existed. And they certainly won't ever again.

~

Last term, I found myself carefully lighting hundreds of candles on the windowsill outside. I tenderly balanced them on the slight incline and melted their bodies to provide fixative wax. I tried to shelter them from the harsh wind and rain and tended to the delicately flickering flames.

I lit those candles not only for my hurt, but in remembrance of something I couldn't quite pinpoint. Maybe it was my heart, maybe my trust. Maybe even a certain naïveté lost long ago. I won't know. I just secretly hoped someone would see me.

~

One of the best things I've done this year was sitting in the Memorial Chapel with Hannah. The sun beams gently penetrated the stained glass behind our heads and, saturated in colour, lightly darted through the thick air. We sat there, round the corner on a bench, and listed, through redolent candle smoke, all the genuinely beautiful things and moments that we'd seen in our lives. Right then, I could picture them all and it helped thaw my heart.

~

I just found, from 1994, a Valentine's Day card Old Hannah sent to my new address soon after I moved. She signed it with a question mark, and put her initials in childish blue copperplate on the painstakingly sealed envelope. Sure, she's not the only person who's ever cared, but I think that was the only one I've ever received.

H.J
x


    mood: recumbent recumbent
    choon: Tom McRae - Just Like Blood