I’m back at this old, way to familiar, buss stop in the middle of nowhere. The darkness eats me up. The rain soaks through me. The cold digs its dead teeth into my bones. My soul shivers as my heart skips a beat and my lounges becomes lame. I fight with what little will there is to regain the function of breathing. Sitting here on a cold metal bench, the same place as before I realize something. The journey I’ve been on the last years had a shortcut back to this place, just a little thought and a looky looky over my shoulder, voila, I’m back. Almost everything is the same, just as I hated it.
Warm busses drive past the buss stop all the time. Filled with smiling and laughing people. The busses never stop, and its my fault. I stopped signaling them, I’m to busy being alone and sad. I’ve tried to board the buss countless times, but before long I leave the buss with my face lowered in shame over the defeat and in front of my I cary my heart in my open palms. Each time I watch it beat as if ready to quit, each new beat surprise me, each time I’m sure it will never manage something like this again. But for some reason, it keeps on beating, keeps on, hurting. Now I find it easier to pretend the laughter from the busses is about me, the failure in the dark. It saves me a lot of time, because in the end usually its me they’re laughing at anyway.
I’m almost convinced that the world is going belly-up soon. I fight with a constant urge to tell people how much it hurts, to spill some of the painful blood on their hands. Just to no longer be alone. I was raised never knowing how to love myself, I’ve grown to understand that blaming don’t work. I’m left with me to learn me, how to love, me. I can’t, can I? I have no center, not in life, not in soul, not in heart. I’m ashes in the wind. Shattered, rock.
My eyes are resting on my lap, the buss stop is all that is. I don’t want to sit here, not even watching life go by. When will I find the strength to love something as fragile as myself? All I have is myself, all I can really trust, its just me. The more I think this thought the less motivated I get, if I had half of the amount of confidence as I have sorrow, life would be such a different place.
I must take responsibility of my feelings, I can’t wait for anyone to clean up this mess I was born into. I know I’m the only one that can change this. I know I cant keep on spilling my blood on other peoples hands. But I know not how to find the strength, I tell myself “Get yourself together.” and what happens is suddenly getting the feeling that my throat starting to swell up and my body turning into a little frightened child. I’m done with this constant failure. When will I ever win, be truly happy, when will I love myself, just a little bit?
A poem from Monk Ryokan
Our life in this world –
to what shall I compare it?
Its like an echo
resounding through the mountains
and off into the empty sky.
Yo no naka wa
nani ni tatoen
yamabiko no
kotauru koe no
munashiki ga goto
The Jisei of Matsuo Basho
Tabi ni yande
yuma wa kareno o
kakemeguru
“Falling sick on a journey,
my dream goes around above withered fields.”
Hereby my blog is no longer as personal as it used to, this was sort of a goodbye concerning my emotional life, while the trip, story’s I might write, funny things blablabla will at some time most likely get published here. But posts like this will most likely never come again. So, I guess goodbye, sort of-ish at least. (Imagine my voice going from emotional to cold and just informative at this point) Well reader, drop by later to take part in the planning of a trip to language school in Japan.