A heart stained in hate, a feeling I fear will play circles....

"So has Stephen found anyone on his infamous search for love?"
"No, *sigh*"
"Haha. God, he and I would probably get along well then."
"Except for the fact that he wants it."

My Mom and I talked about ex-taboo topics that could now be surfaced, since the parent-child bond had been altered. It began to rain, and she filled my backpack with food and came into the yard with me. She dried my bike seat with a towel.
"Hey, get those figs up there."
I climbed onto the retaining wall and pulled the aged fruit from the plant. One was rotten, the other was perfect. She peeled the flesh and seperated it into halves, exposing gelatin tendrils of fruit and seed. Sinking my mouth into it was not unlike pressing your lips to soft ground beef and jellyfish. The taste was a dull sweet.
I hugged her goodbye in the rain; our conversation lingering until I rode around the corner and couldn't see her anymore.
"I love you!" She called.

I noticed how everyone downtown seemed to be 'caught' by the rain. Wearing t-shirts, like myself, they continued moving through their day as if nothing was different. They were merely wetter. Uptown, it's different. People sprint for cover and don Gortex breathable $200 'mid-summer' ponchos. They shy away from the rain as if it will melt away their protective egos. And everything stops. That's why I like it downtown. Shit happens, and people just keep going.

I lay on my side staring at the Bay of Bengal. I comb some of my hair across my face because we use the same shampoo, and if I close my eyes, I can pretend you're here. I stare at the Andaman Islands and wonder if anyone there ever wishes they would just sink into the sea and be forgotten. And two-hundred years later, divers will find their homes and their belongings, but they won't find their bodies. The salt will have eaten their bones, and the animals long digested their flesh. I stare at the map and think, 'In 1946, someone sat down and compiled these islands and masses of land and countries and capitals. They drew the Andamans in faded shades of grey, and typed their names inbetween standard parallels and elevations in feet.' I wonder if anyone knows that copies of their home are being sold for fifty cents on paper and a dollar on linen.

"Did you ever freeze bees and bring them back to life?"
"Yeah, we tried that. It didn't work though. We thought we heard them buzzing, but it was actually the sound of their wings lighting on fire."
"What? How the hell did that happen?"
"Well, we warmed them up using a magnifying glass...."

 

 
So that's it, then. It was ended in a room with the shades drawn, amongst hints of patchy daylight and suffocating tension. I became mute, and spent the evening curled in a tight ball, determined to not let anything touch me. Not even air. I grew increasingly restless. I went for a jog. I paced the kitchen floor. The sink bore residues of discarded liqour. There were no stimulants in the house. I eventually laid a blanket on the floor, and painted for four hours. I mixed shades of red and black to create a make-shift anatomical heart. I cradled the veins in white paint, making them stand out. Making them vulnerable. A hand reached into the centre of the organ, creating a solid line of flowing blood. I experimented with sponges and a tea-soaked poem. The result was looked upon in amazement by Janelle as she returned home.
"Did you actually paint that?!"
"Uh...yeah...I did..."
"Wow. That's really good."
I wasn't familiar with accepting praise; it's always been an awkward thing for me. I turned the painting to face the wall, and proceeded to spend the rest of the night awake and partially-alert. At 4:30 in the morning, I left to go to work. I walked the entire way, drinking in the sunrise and feeling oddly peaceful.
"It's wierd. Instead of breaking down, I have this sudden urge to just help people. If I can't be happy, then I'll dedicate myself to making other people happy."
"You seem quite peaceful, despite what happened."
"Well, I hide the hurt extremely well. I always have."

 

 

 
"The sun rise or the sun set, hold your sadness like a puppet; keep putting on the play..."
-Bright Eyes