it was nothing.

3.01am, 11th of December, 2012.
Listening to: Alesso & Dirty South – City Of Dreams.

It Was Nothing.

“Wow,” he said, breathing heavily. “That was.. thanks.”

He pulled away.
As did I.

I leant my head on his shoulder, burying my face into the soft cotton of his shirt.

“Oh, it was nothing,” was my quietly murmured reply.

Absent-mindedly, I’d spoken the first words I could think of, as if I’d just leant him a pen to use, or I’d done him a quick errand.

I bit my bottom lip, to steady my nerves.
It was my first time being this way.

Being so carefree.
Having no strings to tie me down.
Allowing myself to be so flippant with my actions.
And forgetting about the consequences.

I never thought it could be this easy.
No games, no one-ups.
No lies, no fights.
If I'd known earlier, I’d have saved myself a lot of heartache.

That’s what I thought, back then.
At that moment, I thought I was finally happy for the first time in a long time.
Little did I know how short lived it would be.
Nor did I even consider what kind torturous emotions it would later enforce in me.

It excited me, then.
How simple and fun life could be when I threw out those silly notions of love, true or otherwise, and instead given into the alluring pleasures of lust.
Selfish, seductive, spur-of-the-moment lust.

Forgo the names, the awkward exchanges and skip to the part we all really wanted.
Nothing intrigued me more.
I’d had a taste of it once when I was much more innocent and naive, but thought nothing of it.
I hadn’t enjoyed it then, but tonight, that night, we were playing by my rules.

Of course, he was startled at first. Even I had shocked myself with my newfound confidence.
But my eyes were hazy, my lips were dry and I thought nothing of it, once I realised he was kissing me back.

As soon as it started, it ended. To this day, I still don’t quite recall what happened in between the moments our lips touched and finally drew apart.
All that mattered to me, though for the next day, was that my head was spinning, and inside it were whirlwinds of pure bliss.

I was glad for myself, to be able to enjoy feeling wanted like that. And wanting him in the same way.

But I was also glad for him. I had treated him far better than any other girl had, I could tell from how he often shied away.

He’d been broken, too. Like me.
So, he too deserved a night of happiness.

One thought did cross my mind, however.
A single thought that was enough to ruin my good mood.

‘Did he even like it?’

And from there, billions of questions exploded into my brain.
Doubt filled up my head.

Had I, looking like a complete mess, made an utter fool of myself in front of him?

I did my best to brush these thoughts aside.
What did it matter anyway, if I’d never see him again?

But once again, my train of thought would be rerouted without my consent.

I’d decided years ago, that my heart was already empty.
That I was officially devoid of affection, and of attraction to other people.
I told myself that my heart wouldn’t just swell up and beat faster at the first sight of a person, or at the mere mention of their name.
I convinced myself that the butterflies in my stomach were already extinct, and that their dried up wings would never flutter again.
Those were solely clichés told in the kinds of films and fantasies that I didn’t believe in any more.

I was done with trying to feel love.

Until one day, he showed up in front of me.

He was still as charming as he was in that blurred moment.
At first, I thought we’d play it cool. We’d act like nothing had happened and carry on with our lives.

Alas, he thought otherwise. It was as though it were the only thing on his mind since then.

He was unlike anybody I’d ever met.
He was genuine, caring and..
Honestly spoke what he felt.
Which was a change for me.

I’d never heard such beautiful words spoken directly to me.
So, no surprise that it was probably the kick that sent me off the edge.

Suddenly, a barely familiar sensation erupted in my stomach. They were back.
The feelings I thought had died long before spiked up again.
And I was dreading it.

For I knew, that it wouldn’t be long.
It was only a matter of time before it all started up again.
The games, the mistrust, the jealousy, the anger.

I was happy once.
Happy in my own world, where I didn’t have to feel the pain of love.
And now..

I wish that night had remained what it was supposed to be.
It should’ve been and should’ve gone on to be nothing.
It was nothing.
I swore it was.

But I knew deep down, nothing never stays that way.

imagecredit: weheartit

Behind the Story

She was ready to accept it all. Ready to embrace her emotional handicap. Ready to move on from the past. Ready to forget about the present. Ready to look forward to the future. But we all know that there’s no such thing. Just when you think you’ve found what you want, you’re wrong. Your heart pulls you in the opposite direction. And you can try, but it’s a long and treacherous road back. Just as you reach that city of dreams, like a snagged piece of wool from a sweater, you’re yanked back and unravelling fast.

‘Everything seems
Like a city of dreams.
I’ll never know why,
But I still miss you.

There she's standing,
In a field of lights.
I close my eyes,
And I still miss you.’

The games we play are the ones that lead to our destruction. Life is so much easier without them. With honesty and compassion, happiness is within our grasp. But the distrust we have for one another will never allow it. That’s why there’s no such thing as a perfect lustful nothing moment. Because either you’re unhappy with what you had and discard them, or you’re selfish with what you’ve got and smother them. Either way, you have no control.

her.

11.29am, 21nd of July, 2012.
Listening to: Breaking Benjamin - Dance With The Devil.

Her.
I laugh the loudest, yet my heart is humourless.

I smile wide, but inside I am empty.

My thoughts are lost elsewhere and my eyes keep darting across the room.

Towards something that not only captivates my heart; it crushes it, too.

Now, I know that I am nothing to him. Probably even less than that.

This I have already accepted.

I am a nobody in his eyes.

But her..
That girl..

She is his everything. She somehow fulfils him.

He and her.

Are what he and I won’t ever be.

He shares with her all that he hides from me.

The deepest crevices of his soul are concealed from the world, yet those are the parts of him she knows best.

Why?

Why is that?

She is all that I am not.

While I smile, she scowls.
While I am overjoyed, she is sullen.
While I am sincere, she is cold and unkind.

Yet he loves her.

Bit by bit, I drift slowly away from the conversation that's happening around me until I am all but a shell.

I'm too ensnared by another.

Luckily nobody notices when I flinch at what I hear.

To listen him call her that, it aches.

To know that he refers to her as "Mine", stings.

'What makes her so special?' I want to ask.

But indeed, 'What gives me the right to ask?' is just as valid a point.

I watch as he puts his arm around her, and suddenly, my body feels lacking in warmth.

Nobody could possibly fathom the immense emptiness swirling within the pits of my heart in this moment.

I have had the feeling of those arms around me, too.

I have experienced the gentleness of those hands caress me, too.

Though everyone else has forgotten, and he pretends like it never existed, there was a time when we shared somewhat of a skinship.

It may have been but a fleeting moment, one that began and ended much too briskly for me, still, despite the lamentable evanescence of it all, I was never able to let it go.

Even now, reminiscing over that night, the remnants of my elation recollect and a girlish flush finds its way upon my cheeks.

Together, that night, we spun.

We swung, we twisted, we twirled to a song nobody could hear.

Two as one, we danced the devil's dance.

That day, and every after, I was prepared to give him all that I had.

Whatever it took to feel him under my touch, to feel his hand on the small of my back, like before.

To have him hold me, his broad shoulders protecting me, as he did then.

Like a child crying out for attention, I had been embarrassingly lucid.

I still am.

Letting out an ostentatious laugh, hoping to catch his eye.

Calling him by the name only I use, seeking his acknowledgement.

Subtly smiling and fluttering my lashes, all while trying my best not to overplay it.

I do all this, yet ultimately, I know it is futile.

At the end of the day, when he comes home, he comes home to her.

As his head hits the pillow and his eyes close shut, the one lying beside him and the one he pulls close will always be her.

When it's late at night and his mind drifts off to sleep, it's not me he dreams of.

It's her.

imagecredit: weheartit

Behind the Story

The one thing worse than unrequited love is when you know, you can so clearly see, that you could be so good together, and just they don’t. It didn’t take much for this girl to fall head over heels. One romantic night, and the butterflies in her stomach never left. Her heart was overjoyed when she was in his arms, bodies fitting together like a glove as they moved. Little did she know that she was waltzing on the edge of a cliff. Blinded by his charms, she didn’t even realise who she was dancing with.

'Trembling, crawling across my skin.
Feeling your cold dead eyes,
Stealing the life of mine.

I believe in you,
I can show you that I can see right through all your empty lies.

I won't last long, in this world so wrong.

Say goodbye,
As we dance with the devil tonight.
Don't you dare look at him in the eye,
As we dance with the devil tonight.'

If you say you’ve never had a ‘Her’, you’d be lying. The other girl, the other guy, it doesn’t matter. They’re the one person standing in your way to happiness. You watch and you criticise, you tell yourself, ‘I could be better than them if I just had the chance’. It can’t even be labelled as envy, as it’s more painful and confusing than any jealousy you’ve ever felt. Even so, there’s not a thing you can do about it. Because while your emotions are pure and your love is scorching, you will never be as significant as they are.

and my, what a night it was.

1.19am, 22nd of June, 2012.
Listening to: The Wanted - Glad You Came.

And My, What A Night It Was.
God only knows where we went last night.
And the Devil only knows what we did when we got there.

Like a dream had in a deep, hypnotic sleep, I see only pieces of my memory.
Drinks, lights, shouts and skin.
Just glimpses are all that return.

I rack my mind to think of who might’ve been there..
Who were the witnesses?
The victims..
And the marauders?

Which of us should be feeling guilty?
Which should feel proud?
Which should feel ashamed and which should feel overjoyed?

With half-lidded eyes, I look around the room, scrambling to remember something – anything. The state of the room tells its own story.

Ripped clothes strewn, empty bottles scattered, numerous unmentionables in places they certainly should not be.
Bodies sleeping in the strangest of spaces, in the awkwardest of positions. People wrapped in the arms of the most unlikely bedfellows.

Frightening to think that this was only the last place we ended up at.

I wonder what evidence exists of the antics of last night.
Other than these arcane morning bruises, of course.

Where else have we left our mark?
How many people have we pissed off?
How many actually remember?

With all these questions swirling around my still-drowsy head, my confusion is interrupted by an almost beastly roar.

Yet, while it is not a savage animal letting out a predatory snarl, that snore of a heavily passed out young man could scare off any creature.

Sinking back down, getting ready to doze off again, a knowing smile makes its way to my lips.
Not of arrogance, but just that feeling of content. A smile full of that satisfying feeling, knowing that everything was worth it.

Now, I don’t remember exactly when it began, or what happened after it ended.
But all I can say is that it was a night we probably should’ve regretted.
Should’ve, but where’s the fun in that?

It was a night that might come back one day to haunt us.
To rub it all in our face, laughing at our idiocy, while we blush a deep scarlet of embarrassment.

But for now, it just remains as the night we had absolutely no recollection of.

A night of blasphemy, anarchy and utter debauchery.

And my,
What a night it was.

imagecredit: http://xsoullessblonde.tumblr.com/

Behind the Story

It’s nothing new. In fact, it’s pretty much every weekend. Perhaps even every Wednesday morning, for some. I for one, love it. Maybe it’s because I don’t get the conventional headaches, upturned stomach and bloodshot eyes, but I think it’s great. Sure, I’m tired and groggy, but it’s all a sign that I thoroughly enjoyed myself the night before. It’s all worth it, to free myself from the dregs of my mundane everyday routine.

"Turn the lights out now,
Now I'll take you by the hand,
Hand you another drink,
Drink it if you can.
Can you spend a little time?
Time is slipping away,
Away from us so stay,
Stay with me I can make,
Make you glad you came.

The sun goes down,
The stars come out,
And all that counts,
Is here and now.
My universe will never be the same
I'm glad you came."

The blackouts may be terrifying at first, but piecing together the clues is part of the fun. If it’s the mysteries of others that attract us, then what could be better than to have our own mysteries to ourselves? The evening spent getting up to no good is just the beginning, because it’s the next few days spent discussing, fretting, apologizing, laughing with those who were there that make it worthwhile. To have these unique stories to tell, whether it’s to those who missed out, or to the generations after us, is something money can’t buy. The nights may blend together, and we could end up with our face in our palms, hiding from the shame, but that’s exactly why, the morning after, I’m always the first to ask, “When’s the next one?”

breathe in blue.

10.40pm, 5th of March, 2012.
Listening to: Birds of Tokyo – Broken Bones.

Breathe In Blue.
I can’t breathe.

This damned house is suffocating me.

There’s no air here anymore.

I need to get out.

It used to be a home.

A place of warmth, safety and security.

Now it just feels like a stone cold jail cell and I’m waiting for the day they announce that my time is up.

The day I’m freed.

But the longer I wait, the more I can feel my chest tighten.

Because I know what’s out there isn’t much better than staying in.

In the end, no matter where I go, I’m alone.

Alone, yet still a waste of oxygen that belongs to someone more deserving.

I feel the air growing thinner and thinner everywhere I walk.

And I’m losing hope fast.

To have something to hold on to, someone to cling to..

Is that so much to ask for?

Even in the most crowded of places, I walk at a distance from the rest.

Even in the emptiest, widest space I can find, I must still keep it all to myself.

Even with the brightest smile on my face, I am miserable.

So, why shouldn’t I give up?

There is nothing of value to me in that house..

And not a thing out here either.

Even if something good is waiting for me, wouldn’t it just turn sour in the end too?

Shouldn’t I just save my breath?

Isn’t it easier that way?

To prevent the problem before it arises?

To destroy any chance of heartbreak and disappointment before it has the chance to destroy me?

Even the sky and the moon and the ocean don’t dare to answer me..

I know what I’m supposed to do.

I’m supposed to take it all in my stride.

Forgive and forget.

I’m supposed to pick myself up and move on.

Yet, blow after blow after blow, followed by a barrage of bullets, while I gasp for air, I find myself rethinking whether it’s worth getting back up again.

I know they say, no matter how bad you think you’ve got it, there’s someone else in the world that has it worse.

But for all I care, they can have my life.

I’m too tired, alone and empty to enjoy it anyway.

So whoever’s out there, you can take it.

Take it all.

Take this privileged life that I don’t deserve and live it like I should have.

Because the only way I’ll be able to breathe again is when my lungs fail to function and my heart ceases to beat.

I’m sure that there’s a deep blue place out there for me, where I can finally exhale in relief.

imagecredit: weheartit

Behind the Story

It’s not that there’s a reason to hate life. Nobody should hate their life, unless they have a legitimate reason. But there comes a moment where you start to realise that there’s nothing worth.. anything. Breathing isn’t complicated, it’s not difficult to do. It’s subconscious. We do it to survive. But when breathing starts to become hard, when depression starts so sink in, what can we do?

“These broken bones,
This busted smile,
My head it hurts,
I should be leaving now.
I hear your words,
They call my name,
I won't go back,
You must be out of your head.

You say I'm wrong,
You say I'm mad,
If I stay here,
I'll never make it back.
I hear your words,
They call my name,
I won't go back,
You must be out of your head.”

Please, forgive my sad little self. There’s a dark place in all of us. We all start to wonder what the hell we’re doing. Why we’re still sticking around. What are we waiting for? I guess I’m stupid. But so is life. I wonder what else we have in common.