The moment they came and put their hands all over it, filled up all the space with the things they had bought to equip it, it no longer felt like mine. None of the things felt like it belonged to my space - i was so happy with it, so proud of what little i'd put together, so happy to be there.. when they had come and left with their storm of goodwill, i was no longer happy with it. it no longer felt like mine. i watched the spaces and the things that filled them warily, like it had been inhabited by a stranger without my knowledge. whatever i had found and equipped together for myself came to be zero - nothing i had achieved, nothing i had built and owned, as in the name of love, those i was bound to  watermarked everything, owned everything, everything in my life.

sneakily
The cold tight grasp of loneliness creeps so deep inside that

it goes beyond the reach of friends, beyond the reach of talk, or drinks and cigarettes, beyond work or light and love, beyond laughter; beyond looking for attention or worrying if people care. 

already dead and buried within, wrapped in a shroud, nailed shut. 

And then at 10.40 in the morning, when all the drinks were drunk and all the pills were spun, i found myself plotting my own death.

What are the things that are required?

A clean slate - so those responsible for you do not have to deal with a lot of rubbish, so that your secrets written down in darker moments remain unreachable. You would need to clean up. Clear debts. Throw out what needs to be thrown. Give away what needs to be given away. Assign what should be assigned. So that when they need to sort out your non-existence, it is smooth, seamless. Do not burden them more than you need to.

You need to have spoken. So it will not do to leave permanently, silent or unknown in your thoughts. I would need to write it down - write my thoughts, write everything i have arrived to for all my 28 years of living, write my inner intentions for the people around me. Then write a word of comfort, and of love that i feel of them, so they know; so the final word is spoken.

And write a message to the world - in general. because it is the world in general that has screwed you over. in its innate undertones of evil, of nonsense, of shiny pieces that do not fit, can never fit.

The world is a lonely place for those who seek. Its a lonely place for the pure at heart. Its a lonely place for the lowly.

i worry about coming to the place where drinks aren't enough, smoke ain't enough, music or people aren't enough...even meaningful service isn't enough, when travelling and being in a foreign land isn't enough. when there's nothing, when everything meets with a dull thud inside. then its stark, then you take the only logical next step.

Like the back of her own hand, they say

But in passing she caught glance of a back of a hand she did not know
with unknown lines and contours,
she stared as if it were the back of hands of a stranger
and in that moment she knew which part of her body would age unrecognisably first.

You imagine a scenario in which at the crucial point, you gave in to the inner numb buzz that let's you know that deeply, nothing really matters, and finally letting go, tired of all the nonsense and tired of all the voices, tired of all selfishness and all farces, tired of all the selling out of love and of justice, tired of being alone, you

got lost in the vast nothingness of white snow, snuck into a creak between the layers, embraced the numbness.

This is love's eternal duty:
To stretch you, to beat you out, to mould you and shape you
To sift the superficial from the true; to distill purity from the plain


and so if you find yourself left on the dry tide of love after its job is done
and you find yourself truer, although worn and beaten
and you have fought the bitter bite of regret and envy and hatred - and won;
the light in you has grown stronger (for what is faith except the torch that guides us in our hearts)

then just know that love has done its eternal duty
and like all the people before you and all the people around you and all who will come after you,
you are part of the fabric of life and of humanity that has been tested and shaped by love

sometimes all it takes is a dream to unhinge you.
i wake up with your warmth on my skin. a look on your face. feelings in your eyes. a declaration of love. a comfort of knowing that it still matters to you. another few steps walked together.
then i wake, and i still do not have you.