borntogo2296

[borntogo2296]

Windfall postman...

It began with the words: ‘this isn’t working’ which consequently left me sinking into the abyss, with that unknowingness filled with an abundance of sharks that wanted to take away my soul that was left with nothing but harrowing emptiness of desolation. 

Moments had passed, and I was soon taken to the local train station where I apparently had to go home, but not to see the daughter of the mother that I loved so much (at that time from). I got onto the train, where a gleamless profusion of tears came streaming down my glacial face. Much so that The Great Niagra Falls (itself) would easily be put to shame.  It was at that point my emotive-state caught the attention of the local congregation sitting upon the very train. They did nothing but stare at my emotionally stricken face like a pack of clowns destined to contribute further towards my emotive sub-structure. 

I returned back to my hometown of Cambridge, where I spent most of that time embarrassingly but naturally crying in front of all the passengers presented upon along the platform of the station. I returned home, where I explained the entirety of the situation to my mother. As all it mothers would define; she was not impressed by the current situation but was now progressively joyfully thankfully knowing I managed to get out of this encounter alive. 

Time swiftly proceeded on, where within time took its emotional toll on me. I began waking up in the middle-of-the-night thinking she was there, but no longer she was. This substance left me in overpowering tears, which in essence bought me not to sleep for some time. I kept cumulatively doing this until I thought I came to the very conclusion that she was there abstractly (I smelt her perfume on my pillow). It was at that stage, I became fanatical towards her conceptual-presence ergo left me having climatic sensuality with my mind (but in a chronological order). 

Some months had swung past, and I still found myself having sex with my mind. It was pleasurable, but not in the sense that it was wholesome; to the degree that there was a physical piece missing my vacant presence. As there was a slot available to fill the void, I began to fill this very barrenness with the desired to wish to relive the moments that I found myself assuaging towards the past, especially wanting that pasture inked deep upon my sleeve. With this word written deep within my veins, I was left portraying a character that I didn’t really want to be associated with. 

This character became engulfed with trying to live in three minds: one was my own, one was the chapter I was trying to close and the other was the person that I just left. I think I did this as I was trying (effortlessly) to understand the person I was so deeply in love with, that even marriage wouldn’t justify the feelings I felt for this girl. This person wasn’t that she was complicated, but had a variety of voices stuck in her meritless life, and that making a ‘rightful’ decision deemed endlessly hard for herself. This hardship sunk deep into her mind and with those echoing words (from her parents and others) that she decided to part way with me, which is partly why I decided to end it. 

Throughout the times of reliving the moments that I treasured (good or bad), I saw myself straying back towards that state I detested so fully. It was like I was hanging on with stubborn hope, that one day she would appear from an empty road, with nothing but purified happiness blessed upon her intrepid face. Nothing came from my mindful optimism, which left me peeling away the plasters and bandages that had battered and bruised my mind before. 

These plasters were only coming back to the fourth, as I found myself still wanting to commemorate everything that I felt before, it was like I took satisfaction from this very notion. Much so, that at the time I tried talking with her (through E-mail) or that I would check her Facebook profile. This gave me an element of spiralling despondency; it was like I didn’t want to nothing but stare at her eyes, hoping that maybe one day she would blink twice and ad shout out my name once again. 

That fanaticalness failed to show, but I remained forwardly optimistic ever still. Even if I did find myself clinging on to something that was so shallowly blank that drawing a picture of togetherness would be a dream never to come true. It was at the point, when with a good friend that we went for a drive. Throughout this drive, we ended up driving through the town to where she lived. I only did this to prove a point to myself, and a worthy point it was... through our exploration of Bedfordshire I discovered that my sadness was being heightened, and my tears were gushing internally within. But physically I stood ever tall. 

I found this moment rather blissful, knowing that even though I vowed to myself not to go back there (in case I saw her) and that all this unanswered fate would be illustrated by our notions of not wanting to refuse the betraying acts we played out so wholesomely that our trust for oneself was broken like a substructure of the starts within the lonely nights sky high within the atmosphere.   

Some moments later, I came to the epiphany and shared with my friend that, finally I had gotten over Anna. At last, I was free from clutches. Free from the prison that was governed by officers that only shared sadness upon its prisoners that were clearly suffering from abundances of decaying/broken relationships. What struck me at the moment, was that ‘my’ best friend at that time was no longer anymore.  I was gracefully appreciative for once, it was like turning a new book. But the book was already written as if it was already played out by someone before me... perhaps in an unparallel universe known as life and its generality.