Burning Echoes

I have questions. I keep pushing them away and willing them to hide in rooms too small to hold them, and I try to keep them locked behind bars of mist. But the bindings are too weak to hold weak, and so my questions keep escaping, and they play that game they like that I hate. They repeat themselves like echoes bouncing against the insides of my head, they spread their wordy lines into every space inside of me and they are so demanding that they weaken the structure of every cell they come by.

My questions run so deep they have become a part of who I've become. The longer they stay unanswered the stronger they bruise my moldings. But try as I might I can't find their answers. As good as I am with words, as good as I am at looking, seeing and understanding I can't for the life of me find so much as half an answer. I have looked inside of me and I have looked out and around, but I can't find even the tiniest solid clue that might guide me to where my answers might lie.

I have questions that are burning a hole through my character. They burn so hot and strong it's hard for me to be fine. My strength is wavering and shaking beyond belief, it is cracking under the pressure of so much fire and all I can do is watch helplessly as an echo of flame blackens part after part of who I am. Even the hope that I used to use to lull the questions into sleep has run out. I have no more ideas, weapons or solutions. All I have is eyes that fill with endless tears more times a day than I can count. All I have are long sleepless nights holding my chest as tight as I can against the onslaught of echoes.

My questions are consuming me. They don't understand that there are some answers that can't be found until the time is right. They don't understand that we need to be patient. They don't understand that no matter what they do, no matter what games they play, no matter how many tears they make me shed, no matter how strongly they burn and hurt me they won't find their answers. They don't understand that the reason I haven't been giving them what they want is because right at this moment, what they want doesn't even exist yet.

.. I have questions. And they keep blistering their echoes inside of me. They are stubborn and silly. They belong to that part of me that has been so hurt it regressed into a little child. I have questions that don't care how much they hurt -they keep on screaming why, how and when with every "Lub" of my heart, and they send some of their fire out in tears that run out with every blink of my eyes. 

My Home

Have you ever had a friend that feels like home? If you have one, then you know what I mean. But if you don't, then it might sound odd and make little sense to you. I have one such friend, and my God, I'm a lucky person to call her my home. Let me attempt to explain how it feels, but excuse me if the words come across dry and less laden with feeling than usual. Some feelings run so deep, are so a part of your very DNA that it's nearly impossible to put them to words. They cannot be quantified, described or expressed. Some things are just felt, and they just are.

It's not about love. Love isn't the main ingredient, although it is an important limb. It's about comfort. It's about fitting so perfectly together that all the edges disappear. It's about being so in tune that you can never distinguish which melody belongs to who. Some friendships transcend and become blood. They become like your very skin, something that holds all of you together and yet is still as much a part of you as your mind and heart. 

When you have such a friend, then that friend feels like your home. When your atoms are shaking and uncontrollable, when they are scattered and floating around what is supposed to be your core -being with your homey friend makes all those atoms sit still and finally rest. You feel at peace. You feel right when you've been wrong for a long time. It's like coming back to your house after a long day, putting on your most comfortable clothes and lying down. When that's how it feels to simply be with a friend, then you've found a home in a person, you've found the missing half of your soul, and you are luckier than I can ever say. 

My words were choppy and broken. My sentences were not well strung. My descriptions were clumsy. My writing was not what it always is, but that's the best way I have of describing how this friendship feels. It's so past reality, past words and solids that it can never be captured. But she knows, and I know, and we can feel it. My writing isn't the way it always is, and that's the perfect way for this piece. It is something different, and it just is. 

For my B, my home.. 

I See Stars

Everywhere I look I see stars. They shine bright when I blink and they fade to a low glow when I stare. Wherever I look I find them looking back with knowing light that twinkles with secret things. They are glued to the backs of my lids and they are fixed to my eyes. I find them fallen all around, and I find them soaring high above.

I see stars that tell stories of myself. They hang around waiting for questions that never come. They haunt my sight screaming silent words into the void that is my within. I see them when I sleep and I see them when I wake. I see them when I look and I see them when I try to shield my gaze. They are there dancing within my mind, shaking with words that need an escape. 

I see stars that speak of long dead wishes, of bleeding dreams and broken visions. I see stars that are a mere reflection of light coming off the death of a strong burning flame. I see stars that are nothing but leftover illusions that constantly remind of the dying souls it left behind. I see stars that scream of disappointment and embed the knowledge of fading brightness within every light. 

I know what they would speak and yet they keep haunting my sight. Everywhere I look I see stars. They shine when I blink and they shine when I stare. Everywhere I look I find them looking back with knowing light trying to tell me secret things. They are glued to the backs of my lids waiting for questions that never come. They are fixed to my eyes shaking with stories that need an escape. 

I see stars everywhere I look, and when I finally listen to all their words they tell me secret things that I never knew. I see stars that tell stories of life after what they thought was their death. I see stars that burn brighter than the flame that died to give them life. I see stars that remind that long dead wishes, bleeding dreams and broken visions are nothing but a prelude to brighter lights that bring fire to worlds and skies. I see stars that linger everywhere I look to tell me that the end is the beginning, and the death of fire doesn't mean the light is gone.