What love is not

  

How it happened

We’re too tired to talk, to make sense of this gaping hole.
So I’ll work and you will play Max Payne. And the hole grows larger and my heart heavier.
But we’re too tired to talk, to make an effort to fill the hole,or analyse it’s origin.
(Here it is, the origin: I nag for you to change, you, stubborn, refuse, I nag more, you refuse more…)
So I’ll work and you can watch TV. And the hole becomes so big it swallows twelve years.

And one day, I’m too tired to stay and you, you’re too tired to ask me to.

Copyright Hiraeth 2014

Hiraeth

Hiraeth it will be
This intricate part
The poet inside
Of me
A search for self,
Longing thread amongst
Her words,
Forgiveness sown in
Paragraphs, self loathing
In punctuation marks.
You might recognise some
Part of you
Somewhere in her lines,
Since all are longing:
Some ignore the signs.

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Dramatic Production

I have a simple life philosophy now, one I test regularly to make sure I am on track with the type of life I want to create and maintain for myself. I tell myself about my life, like a narrator telling a story, I go through the details of mine and my test is quite simple: if at any point the story sounds like a dramatic production, complete with poster and tagline, I am off course.

I have found (through heartbreak, frustration and many tears) that the moment I find myself reciting a story that sounds like an episode off Jerry Springer, I am not living a life of promise, a life that will lead me to a place of gratitude and self realisation. I had to change direction. It was not easy and a few times I nearly returned to my starring role. I had to leave people I loved and cut ties with friendships that were meaningful. But the cost was small in comparison to the life that awaited me.

I think everyone has a few Springer episodes in their life, it is part of our journey of self discovery, but it shouldn’t become a place of permanent stay. Such situations will suck you dry emotionally and leave you in a wasteland where you no longer know yourself.

So try me, tell yourself your story, the play in which you now feature as one of the main characters. Tell it honestly, without embellishment or half-truths.

Tell it because you owe it to yourself.

I wish we could talk

I wish we could talk
You and I
Like we used to
Without fear or judgement
Or regret
About the small things
The little things we have
Discovered in our journey
The silver lining found
Along the path
And then for a while
We could talk about
The big things,
The things we have struggled
With, the disappointments,
The disillusionment of what is
Out there
The loss encountered
Along the way
And finally we might
Shake hands and part
And agree that our journey
Was sacred
It was worthwhile
And will always be magical.

Copyright © 2014 by Hiraeth

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No one will enter

I shared my soul with you
The blood and passion
That feeds my inner self
[my inadequacies revealed
As the truth of who I am]
I took you on a journey
Of the intricate parts, the
Crevaces, chambers and
Scars left by loss
[my fairytales revealed
As the imaginings of
An inner child
Long lost
But soon found]
Here the door is closed
The key lost along the way
No one will enter again
No one will walk in your
Footsteps
Ever
Again

Copyright © 2014 by Hiraeth

I painted it white

I reach now to the past
To the simplicity of what
Once was
The safety of the known
No surprises
A picket fence home
I forget the spaces, voids
Left unfulfilled
I pick the memories scrapbook
Them to reflect then
Is better than now
The heart is deceitful in its
Memory
It serves itself, partial lies
Obscuring obvious truth.
Bruce Springsteen did not
Save us, nor our love of dogs
I instead dreamt of beaches
And sunsets
And innocence long lost.
Here then is the truth,
A picture of grey:
black and white blended
In a collage of what once was
And is stored in my heart
Forever
In white
(to the detriment of my soul)

Copyright © 2014 by Hiraeth