Anger comes with realisation.
It’s not about forgetting, denying, acting like there’s nothing wrong. Anger is such an overt emotion that it requires a response, it thrives on recognition. The angry man who’s ignored will just skulk his way into a pit of sorrow but challenge him and he flares up, wild. Angry.
You have to be careful with anger, everyone can see it and so it easily fixates on the wrong target. I’m angry at no one but myself but you wouldn’t believe it if you spoke to those around me.
To them I’m angry at the world, at the process, at them.
But I don’t mean it.
I’m just angry because I’m still sad. And I’m sick of being sad. But I don’t know how to stop. So instead I’m just angry.
Angry at my own emotions, because they won’t stop when I tell them to.
I’m sick of euphemisms but the truth hurts so much.
With every step he takes a door closes.
He staggers forward, barely putting the effort in to walk as the sound of wood slamming on wood and bolts clicking into place encompasses him. The still air surrounding him warps and bends and creaks and groans as he pushes at it, giving no heed to his futile march. The stench of stagnation leaks in through the cracks his apathetic movements are able to make in the wall ahead of him, his eyes dimly focused on a blur ahead through the impassable air. Another door? A window? The light at the end flickers, morphing, changing from a dream to an ambition; a mirage of hope fading into a stained glass rendition of lion and lamb, each growing more distant the closer he gets.
Another step and another door slams next to him, the clambering rasp of a metal bar sliding into place like a nail hammered into a coffin.
Frustration with every movement. Desperation with every door closed. Regret with every staggering step that doesn’t lead off this downward path.
The depths of nowhere are boundless, hollow and calling his name.
Could have been in the Army; I’m such a “gunna”.
They say that sorry is the hardest word. Really it’s no harder than any other word to say, but to mean it is a different thing all together.
Unfortunately when we mean it the most, when we’re absolutely sincere, that goes hand in hand with times we wrong those we care about the most.
What I would give to be hand in hand with the person I care about the most.
So I found a blue moleskin tucked away in my room with this, among some other things, written in it. It’s titled as a draft but I don’t believe that.
I say it to you
I say it so true
When you say it back
It feels like adieu
More sure of it now
Than first it was said
‘Cause I’m more at peace
With thoughts in my head
Three words that we know get bandied around
What people love most is just how they sound
But not when I say it
Perhaps nor with you
Perhaps I imagine
That sound of adieu
Tonight when you said it
You rid me of fears
Expressed it so well
You brought me to tears
It’s not just the drink
Nor the late hour
Tears brought to the brink
And here comes the shower.
Here’s some truth for you and it’ll bug me unless I say it, just knowing you’re probably pronouncing this page wrong.
The ‘v’ in Latin is pronounced with a labio-velar approximate (that’s a ‘w’ sound).