Re: Deconverting From Radical Islam
Reply #90 - June 27, 2012, 06:31 PM
Tianna... That's quite the story itself. Our relationship had a number if complications that meant it wouldn't work out. Whilst I still adore her, I can't bring myself to try again. It's not something I've talked much about to anyone, but I've written a bit on it. Perhaps these will clear up my thoughts on the matter. I'll warn you, it's a confused collection of odes to emotion. They're ordered chronologically, but I don't know if that will make it make any more sense.
It's because we find our selves sitting facing each other playing a game neither of us decided to start, that one of us must make the first move. When that pawn slides forth on the wooden board or the knight slips through the front line, your opponent is cast the opportunity to make the greatest winning move never made; not to play, or to engage the fool and force each other to tear forth from the communion a winner. No matter how long it takes, I always choose to play. So I ask out of love, please don't play with me.
I could carve a heart out of ice and it'd better represent that fleshy pulsating organ in my body. It isn't that I am cold; that I would wish harm to another, but that I am frozen, my affect still within a time I left behind. I find myself somewhere far ahead of my own mind, but look back at my emotions stuck in a place I've almost forgotten, at a height out of my own reach.
Why does the wind blow when the waves are already heavy? Doesn't it know the weight of the sea's wings against the city's barriers are enough to penetrate its soul? Shall she endure more of this pain till she collapses and the rain erodes her heart or will the wind calm and allow the city to repair itself? They will never know if appeasing the wind god by opening the city gates will steady the tempest or if the doors will only be the opening in which the city will be destroyed. Afraid, the towns people slowly unlock it. The wind god smiles.
Hey, violets are what's blue, not roses. I expected thorns, but not that these petals would be so bitter. I should have realised that even hemlock that snatched the life of the wisest, was grown from the earth as a sister to the trees. Why then should these flowers be seen as born from purity, when the mother that bore her venomous sister remains nature.
Where's your love, is it really here, or are you showing it to me now because of that desire? You're not really here, you're floating off as we dance. Stay still and let me capture you. Unable to handle your own emotions, you're here today, but won't stay for the morrow. Even if I were to hold your heart in my grip, it'd only slip through my fingers landing on the floor with a splash, because it's covered in blood that isn't yours. You want to know why I touch your soul gently, when you want me to take you? It's because under the facade of good will you pull the velvet strings of my own affect, you tug me around by my veins, tearing at my arteries, but I don't respond because I'm numb to this pain. Instead I smile, agony can be comforting, a reminder that even through torment, we live/love.
Promise me, that when I take your life, you won't scream. I've listened to the echoes of my own voice pound these padded walls. Beyond this room, no one can hear you. I've tested this, pushing the very limit of my vocal chords and she never heard it, so how could I hear you. Why should I care for your pain, I've pulled my soul from the furnace before, a little heat won't kill you if you don't. I'm done trying to bargain with your kind, your pointless gestures of emotion are ephemeral. A shooting star burns up in the atmosphere as a spectacular sight, yet short-lived, easily forgotten. I've seen enough bright lights and witnessed musical masterpieces composed. I know the trick, it's all in the math. I'll play the game if you want, you know you love the fantasy, but promise me, when I take your life, you won't scream.
There was an onion on my chopping board. Holding back would do no good, the swifter I made this the easier it would be. I opened my mouth and released the blade against the layered skin of the pungent herb, applying force till I heard the edge hit the board, she bled cold white tears and I repeated the manoeuvre. As my deeds ripped through her mind, her stillness tore tears through my heart and across my face. I didn't stop, I refused to. I had been here time and time before, hesitation only made the ordeal drag on. I would make both of our lives easier by continuing, pretending I didn't feel the sting in my eyes, never blinking, barely squinting to make sure I got the job done. It was over. Soon, I'd push the little pieces into a pile and mix them in a pot with everything else and then I'd forget the whole thing.
I used to be powerful, then I started
blogging.
Topic: Deconverting From Radical Islam