Entry 1: The Melody Of A Broken Wing

The ticking clock rapes the silence that has befriended me into the current state of which I exist. It is not enough of the cherry blossoms dangling from the tree branches; the crisp in the air creeping through the window, nor the sunlight dancing across the walls or the twittering of birds between one another, that can lift the pregnant dark shadow that skins itself deep in my thoughts.

I have exercised the ways to deafen the words that sing in my ears like a broken needle kissing a vinyl record. But I am human, alive and all things otherwise prone to linger on the past and that torture oneself slowly into an incredible abyss of self pity and despair.

The words swim from your mouth, rolling effortlessly off your tongue, with no recognition of remorse or regret. “I can’t be with you’s and “I need time for myself’s” are wonderfully orchestrated like an accomplished symphony. Your once magnetic green eyes look so empty and straight into mine without the life or hope they once did. With my heart ripped from my body, held in your hands, the blood drains from my veins as you walk away and out of my life.

Lifeless in this place, unable to move, breathe, sleep, eat, remove the increasingly romantic disease from the depths of my thoughts, you are never far behind as I want to wish nothing but good things when I know that’s not what is impregnating yours.

I forget sometimes why I am here to endure what is left of my very being. My feet firmly on the ground instead of the ledge, but the ledge is never far from my thoughts, or temptation. A ceremony of a new beginning is always at arms length, just not mine. Deformed by crippling fracture of the unknowing and unexplained, I print on the sheets of my journal. I’ll press the needle down and wait for the wind to change its direction to stand on the ledge once again.