I spotted this vase today in one of the charity shops. I was taken by its delicate design and vivid colours. My partner saw it and simply bought it for me. It made me smile as little things like that are what matters.
My heart is here and I am longing to be with you floating on the surface of the liquid heaven made of tears and passionate kisses.
My heart is a big, bulgy red lump loaded with feelings, compassion, passion , creativity, clarity and occasionally confusion. In my opinion it works better than my brain which resembles soggy mass loaded with some wisdom and bombarded with daily dosage of external information about the outside kingdom of ridicule.
My heart aches when I hear a familiar tune. I feel like something is missing- perhaps a piece of my soul has been taken away, kidnapped and misplaced. Is that it? Does life taste bitter? Where is the sweetness from haunting dreams?
I look through the window the scent from the land of living hits my nostrils, my brain awakens, I want to come out from my burrow to taste, smell, experience and to kill the routine. I’ve decided to mingle with other creatures using a guideline called- The Etiquette. I want everything to be perfect so I read it thoroughly making notes and in the meantime interviewing accomplished familiar faces. Feeling prepared, I go to the city to try my luck. I walk pass multiple places of worship and people in front of them stabbing each other, slitting wrists and slashing throats. The thick and warm crimson coloured blood from severed veins and arteries is spurting all over the floor. Severely and lethally wounded they are still smiling at eachother happily chatting away. I can feel shivers running down my spine and a stomach climbing its way up towards my throat, it’s sickening… People wave at me, they open their arms in an attempt to greet me. They are moving closer and closer leaving a trail of treacly blood behind them, I’m terrified, I splutter something and run as fast as I can back to my burrow. I yelp for some time then I compose myself realising that I’m satisfied with my aching heart as at least it’s not an artificial piece of sponge. I believe there are other people like me.
I’m gonna find a piece of charcoal to write my last letter before I commit suicide.