Can I see that warm smile again?

Oh what a fool i am what a fool what a fool i've been, i wonder if it's too hard to see that warm smile again, for it's so cold here, so cold in this world of mine i could really care less for anyone but you, but now i feel how you felt at that time when i was so heartlessly saying all those hurtful things like a spoilt little brat, i heard that pain in your voice but i turned a blind eye to it, i must have been so cruel, how you must have hurt like i do now tears we both share now, but don't kill me like that, don't leave me out there in the cold.

I walk alone.

In the soft streetlamp glow
Amidst the dancing rain
I walk alone my way
Shivering in the chill

Want for nothing in the world
But for your hands
I walk alone my way
Shivering in the chill

You & I, makes We.

Remember?
You hold my hand tight as we shoulder through the crowd.
I fold my arms against the cold as I walk amidst the bodies.
Nous apprenons francais, in the past.
J'apprend francais, now.
You eat grapes from the bowl with me.
I eat it alone, so bitter it tastes.
You hold me close as,
I hold myself and cry.
You catch my eye that night of silent lights.
I can only search endlessly for those depths to fall into.
You blow me kisses coyly with a wink.
I only wish I could return them now.
You build that sanctuary with me.
I sit lonely in my little corner, insignificant.
You clasp me in such warmth I could not lose.
I cannot wear enough for my heart is cold with pain.
Remember?

Tu me manque...

Time.

They say time would heal all wounds.
Would it get rid of my pining?

It feels like I'm being torn asunder.
I know not what to do...
Please come back and fill this void.
I dont want to forget.

Whatever walks in my heart, walks alone.

What can I say?

My mind was full of you when i heard you fell ill.
Yet you would still deny me.
Leaving you to suffer alone in silence.
You would not let me near...
And I can only see you in pain,
In my minds eye I hurt as much as you do,
And you would still keep me outside the gate.

Outside. Walls.
You would really prefer not to?
I'd prefer not to see the end.

A morning and a message.

"I just want to be left alone"
Don't we all?
Away from the people who misunderstand us?
Yet dont we all?
Secretly yearn for someone to understand us for what we are?
Accept us for what we are?
Love us for what we are?
And let silence do the talking?
I'd do just that and more...

In the dead of the night.

I wonder why in this dead of the night I still cannot fall asleep.
And I find sleepless lost souls adrift here as i am.
Troubles? Work? Or simply insomnia?
Of course we do know insomnia isnt just insomnia in itself is it?
But I really couldnt care less to classify why I'd be up at this god forsaken hour.
I'd just be up simply because I can and I am.

I think theres really nothing much i can say here that hasnt already been exhausted by the great writers throughout the span of history.
Yeah the motif of love will be eternal, but I'm not here to ramble about literature.
Accurate as it is in exposing human nature and concealing it at the same time.
But how do I exorcise your phantom that keeps haunting me so?
Yet even if I could i wouldnt?
Desire is a double edged sword.
For it is eating me from inside out.

Why dost thou haunt me so?
And all I can snatch at are vague mists that disappear by morning's light?
Would you not return to me in flesh and blood?
In form so corporeal, that I can hold again?
The silken hands of sleep enfolds me.
I wish I could surrender to your nether touch like I do with sleep.
I wonder if I would see you?

But oh how can I really sleep but slumber fitfully in half sleep without you?
You... The one that greets me with now no more than an empty smile?

Walls of Silence.

Forgive me dear friends. If I have been distant. There are some things I wish not to burden friends with, or I would start to foster some kind of dependence on that listening ear. No, I shall have to stand alone for this, or I would always be just a snivelling heap in the corner, I will have to learn things the hard way someday.

Sometimes I do reminisce wistfully at the days when I could just stare without a care into the endless starlit skies or just wait out the fleeting sunset in the middle of nowhere, that vast freedom, I would never taste again. I often wonder how I have let myself degrade to become such a weak-willed creature, this sickening cycle seems to be cruelly repeating itself, like some self propagating prophecy of mine. Endless anticipation. Fleeting joy. Only to leave me crushed at the end. Still, I must endure this torture, but sometimes I take leave of my senses, I become half of what I once was, maybe even lesser. A beggar for alms.

No, I do not have the luxury of time. No, I'm not just some attention seeker. No, I am much more than just that. And no, do not give me that knowingly condescending look because you have no idea, no idea at all, of the depth of me.

Yet, I'm to be the hand of mine own destruction, because it has always been the case. I was so blind, so blind. You had lifted the veil, but I had refused to face mine fears and so you left and shut me away into the shadows, leaving me floundering helplessly in that momentary flash.

Seems like I always take the wrong divide in the fork. Know that I would give anything for your guiding hand out of this mire.

Westlife.

Something reminded me of you.
Remember Westlife?
Remember me?

Answer.

Why do i write indeed? Perhaps a need for an outlet, where answers are not easily found I rant for them, in the hopes of them getting heard. Why do i write? Perhaps a need to put intangible emotions into tangible words. Why do i write still? Perhaps it is to bridge that gap that mere voices can never fully express, I have more time to craft each and every single thought, condensed into a word or splashed out in a torrent of an essay. I write to fulfill all these little curiosities of mine and of human nature, as long as our history stretches, we will always remain an enigma to ourselves.

For all of my eloquence, my ardour and my desire, intricately put together as a gift for you. I would be greeted by a wall of silence. Perhaps I was merely being facetious, desperate and cheap, that in reality I do not actually subscribe to the ideals I have painted for you. Perhaps it really is so, that I am changing into something i am not, or maybe i am finally honest and brave enough to bare myself for the worm that i really am.

I can beseech you nothing no longer.

Oh hark! Dost thou not hear the most melancholy bells of irony ringing at the back of my poor little head?