Grasp. V

They are the eyes for the blind, the voice of the deaf. A symbol of all a human can hold. They represent our daily lives, what our lives used to be, and what our life might become. A sense of touch is one of the only things Washing away the permanent alienation instilled upon us at birth.

From the day this balloon wielding Saint was bestowed upon me it was a small detail I often overlooked, despite that they became the core of our near telepathic communication— aside from the portals that lie in wake within her pupils.  She seemed unaware the immense power she held within them. Or she was just taking it easy on me. I could not care any less. The force of her magnetic grasp always seemed to pull me closer to the one thing I always needed.

She spoke seldom. Her smile was always one which washed away all my worries. Yet at times that too made me anxious. Concerned with the possibility that she'll just take the balloon and leave. Alas, I often tried my hardest to not let the mystery of a unique countenance get to me. These frivolous falicies always cluttered my mind. Always finding a way to tear down the barrier she built to protect my fragile mind.

With the lack of words between us they became Everything in how we understood each other. Alongside her eyes. She was covered in invisible flaws. She hid some by purpose and some by accident. I could never tell which no matter how much she ran through my mind, not matter how long I sat with a childish grin on my face as I stared; no matter how much time seemed to stop around her—I...—I never could.

Despite all this one thing I could see. They were damaged, scarred, permanently blistered. Those wounds are the most we've had in common at first glance. Mine were the same, the damage extended past them; all the way up. The feeling of familiarity when they were intertwined was partly why I've come to care for her so deeply. (Even though she's been taking care of me this whole time). The action of conjoining between them was the empitome of a completed puzzle. All the peices finally in place. One small touch and I could feel all she had felt. She felt all that I had. One of the smallest gestures amongst humans yet for us it had become Everything.
Even though we both had our damages I never felt the roughness that should be there. It was always suddenly soft. Like one of those memory foam mattresses.

Even before her I never coped well with letting things go. I was a people hoarder. No matter how awful or how much Pain these succubi dished out over the years, my own lonliness always scared me more. I knew myself well, I could torture myself permanently for days on end. It's difficult for the outside world to try and protect one from themselves.

The thing that had become our defining feature of our companionship was the same force which had once held the worst weapon against myself. When you get so attached to another being, as if super gluing yourself to them emotionally it can easily become a burden for them and you would never know. That is one of my utmost fears, granted I've always believed I was a burden. She's been proving me wrong lately. Another thing that makes this world colorful again.

I was aware of the damage that she must do to herself at times. How else could someone be so helpful towards me unless she truly understood. I wish I was equal to her. My grasp never had the same affect on her as hers did to me. If anything I'd suspect the opposite. Nevertheless she looked so content. A look on her face she called 'Adorableness' even though I had no previous meaning of the word I could tell that was the word for how she always looked.

So selfless. So very selfless... She worries me with it. And I could never repay her. And yet she didn't seem to care about that. She still would let me hang on. To this balloon, and her. I feel at peace now despite my worries. Because that's all they were— worries. And she always reassured me. With that effortless angelic touch. Locked within her grasp— this is where I was meant to be.

Silence

Dear Gwyndolin,

      Your mind is so frail. Able to believe there's a change over time when in reality at heart the insanity still lies. A kind of insanity that takes such a thing as Silence and attaches a connotation to it out of thin air.
      Such as Sullenity. The kind of meaningless silence with no purpose or cause yet you're so full of yourself and worried over a fruitless opinion to notice that the world is fine. Yet that sudden, sullen silence reminds you of the kind that occurs between a father and a Son he never sees. When in the real world that's just your own mind toying with you.
       You need this unnecessary amount of reassurance all because you think you aren't worth anything. Yet you and I both know that's not true.
       You take something so menial and minute and through your eyes the world's on fire and everyone hates you.
       To everyone else you're just talking to yourself and their worried about you.
Just trust me on this alright?
You know I'm right because I'm a part of you.
~ Sincerely Yours,
           A Voice of Reason

Completion. IV

Although I have adopted the facial structure of a balloon owner, unwillingly induced by her wonderous presence, sleep was still something that eluded me. I oftentimes just stay up to think about the past. Even though it's certainly not enjoyable it allows me to appreciate her more and more with each passing day. If I wasn't reliving old nightmares I often lay and get lost in the peacefulness of her slumber- I have a bad habit of staring at the prettiest thing in the room and not noticing. Her body looked weightless as gravity took full control over it. She'd be no different than a corpse if it weren't for that beautiful countenance she always wore so well.
On occasion she would grow restless, suddenly tossing and turning as if facing the few demons she hid from me. Regardless of how much of me wanted to help, as If an obligation of recompense lead by all she has done for me and yet I am forced to do nothing. I never brought it up as to refrain from stirring up the worst of her reality once our equally sized hands connected like gears built for each other. With the gears locked in place the machine that is happiness moved forward for the day. Just a look into those innocent greenish eyes of her was like seeing a tree bloom for the first time. The balloon reluctantly joins like a typical background character.
As time goes on the strength of her ambiance only grew stronger. A most loving of an embrace she possessed. Something I have longed for since the day of my unfortunate creation. A kind of embrace that makes you want to endure all the world's aliments as it worked as a universal cure which made all that we both have suffered worth it.
She was often cold to the touch. Maybe her icy fingertips were the only reason she held my hands. Nevertheless I minded not. Intent on her end could never remove the immense release in the companionship I have finally gained. I felt as though I had a purpose to her. I was able to keep her warm any time of the day. I would give her all the warmth in my body if I had such capabilities. We were in the rest of this life together. Some would say to suffer the environment together however we both felt nothing but bliss as the others presence came to complete the puzzle of life and that happiness is much simpler than I had previously made it. It is the dream which lives on although encompassed in nightmares, it is the ember that refuses to be smothered during snowfall, it is the space between each of your digits being filled perfectly with another's that completes life's mysteries.
It is everything I've ever needed it to be- her.

Ecstasy. III

Not long did it take for the Golden shield, worn by this mistress of mystery to begin to protect me as well. The helium balloon was neither hers nor mine. It simply was. That's all we could've ever hoped it to be. This dusty snow globe of a world I reside in stayed just as dusty as always, yet I saw less of it— or rather felt less of it I suppose. This angelic figure of a woman and I had never separated since that day. All in all the activities of my day continued the same as before. However the mundane ambiance had evaporated now that I can share it with someone. Still, her high-stapled cheek bones and perfected bits of calcium make me uneasy. Whatever disease gives it to these balloon wielding miracles must be contagious. With her at my side she's basically sewn my corners to the top. She said it would be a lot harder to break than the staples the balloon gave her. As the time we spent together grew so did the gravitational force of those charismatic eyes she wore. They weren't Perfect, in fact it may have been her one and only imperfection, but she never pretended like they were either.  That has potentially always been the most intriguing fact about her. A human able to stay completely honest and still wear a halo of hair unlike any others.
She stuck out like a sore thumb. At least next to me anyways. As we walked the desolate avenues it looked as though we were an unmatched pair with our balloon as some adopted bastard of a child. When in fact neither of us could begin to see such a future. She just knew I'd never have the confidence to hold such an immense privilege in my hands without the warmth of hers helping me. We often had our fair share of stares and scowls from the creature like humanoids nested near the sewage drains. She never paid mind to them. I suppose I may have cared too much, even if I used to know them. They were different now. Not a single light shone except for her during all hours of the day. Like a spontaneously lit candle willing to sacrifice everything for a plebian whom of which certainly didn't deserve it. The light she emitted was a window into a previously unperceivable world with no dust at all.
When we were by our lonesome that window would widen to the fullest. In that window, was a world whose clouds only made shapes of animals, something no one has seen for years— at least... Not where I'm from. There was the same heap of snow but without the suffocation that comes with it. A world where the sun was always generously trading with the moon. This is where the balloons came from.
The window closes to her scolding me. I had no idea that I could get lost in someone's eyes so easily. She seldom spoke and whenever she did all I could ever hear was an angelic siren of reassurance that she'll never let this balloon go. I believe her. I felt drowned in euphoria. A type of feeling you only experience a few times in your life. The feeling of your lungs filling with helium lifting up what had been thought to be a useless soul. A special warmth in the upper-left sector of your ribcage I had never knew existed until she came along. A feeling so beautifully grotesque that if I were to breathe my last breath in those moments that breath would have a special enchantment to it that only she could form out of nothingness. She had taught me a new word as well, it must of been for describing her. I believe it was called "Perfe—"

After removing myself from this baptism of happiness she so instilled, I return to the scolding.  Apparently it had been my turn for over 5 minutes; we were playing chess. I was godawful at the game; goddamn was she good at it. I would just sit and arrange all the little figurines as though I was actually attempting to storm a castle. In my head the pawns were going to flank the side entrance, like the surprise of her arrival. I personally thought bishops were useless, just out of experience, forgetting it was a board game. The rest of the pieces just seemed to have arbitrary limitations. Like my own. Except for the Queen of course. The most powerful piece on the board. It had become the embodiment of her. All her pieces were golden, lined with red threads. Mine were dust ridden. Worn out, old, and obviously replaceable. Throughout the game the balloon sat and watched. Noiseless like a traumatized child; observing me endlessly. Watching me get lost in the thought and study of what happiness actually feels like. Subconsciously I was making each move take a little longer in hopes that maybe the window would stay open.
"Checkmate" she says.
I had almost intentionally put myself in a corner of the board, to make my rusted king suffer less. She decided to drag on his suffering with her two beautiful rooks. Somehow she knew how to amuse me. My face had sewn it's self upwards. The muscles twitched and creaked as this pleasurable roar of noise erupted from my vocal chords.  Hers was just the same. It was probably the loudest thing she's done. Seeing her do that caused my face to clench so tight the ends of my eyes crinkled. She seemed to enjoy that.
It grew to be late. The evening was near indescribable. I lay awake too full of adrenaline as the balloon separated her and I across the room. I was scared to fall asleep, I still am, because reality had become far greater than my dreams ever have.
I roll over just to stare into the balloon as I drift off with my helium filled lungs.
"This was the hope I had always Dreamt of".

Bliss. II

Day after day. Cloudy sunrise after cloudy sunrise. Gloomy Moonlight shone through each night as the one small glimpse at something known as hope.
One usual dead December day a red balloon attached itself to me. At first I was somewhat alarmed at just what the hell this was. I had knew of colors but never seen them in person. Not because I'm colorblind but because there are none in this dust enclosed dome of despair people are literally dying to get out of. There it sat, taunting me knowing I could never fully grasp it's presence. At least it was nice to look at, a small, nearly blooded, glimmer of hope to reach for. The red balloons were reserved for those who were actually good people, with money. The balloon refused to leave and so it just floated around me, like a cloud with no rain orbiting me as I travrsed my snowy wastelands.
Eventually there was a crowd surrounding me, making all this unbearable noise, futilely trying to remove the balloon from my orbit. Then I noticed a specific girl in the crowd. She was different from all the rest, she had this golden sheild of hair that seemed to repel the dust. Her face was nearly freakish, at least to me. She looked just like your stereotypical balloon owner, even though she didn't have one on her, with their top facial muscles clenched to perfection, showing off the impeccable calcium tablets held hostage in her mouth, all 32 of them; each corner pinned underneath their eyes, but hers wasn't forced.
She seemed odd especially in such an animalistic crowd however an Enjoyable resonance that only I seemed to be able to feel emitting from her. She approached me and with a power Unknown to me she grabbed the balloon. After the gasps from our audience had ceased the taped the balloon to my hand and vanished.
The crowd dispersed, seeing as I somehow possessed the balloon now. As the exposure to the balloon had extended more and more I could feel my facial muscles slowly clenching as well, until the balloon detached itself from me and disappeared. And so I continue the trudge through the dust all the way to my house, which certainly never felt like home. Another night of intimidating Moonlight passes by.
I wake to find the balloon there again. Except now it was glued to my hand. The day went on similarly to yesterday with an unsettling amount of Stares. My tongue-gaurding calcium began to slowly show itself. Suddenly, the balloon seem to have enough, it knew I didn't have any right to it. It tore itself away from my hand. I felt nothing as the glue tore away at my shell of a body but it still hurt. As the balloon began it's vertical escape the girl appears again. Her resonence began to consume me, a piece of me had been longing for her presence. She grabs the balloon again, still just as surprising as before. With it in hand she steps towards me, saying how she never wanted a balloon despite how fitting she is for one. She locks her hand into mine sealing the balloon in place. It must have been hers, but why? Why would she try so hard to give this to me? That answer I still don't know. But her hand has still never left me, she follows by my side making sure I hold on to this helium balloon she calls happiness.

Clarity. I

Tunnel Vision, it's this odd occurrence that lead's to a plethora of idiocy in decision making. It causes a person to literally not see something five feet in front of them. It prevents those who want things from realizing they already have what they're searching for. It is a fogginess of time wasting the revolves around trying to shove yourself into every other person's life when they clearly want nothing to do with you. This fog prevents you from seeing that someone has already accepted you as a person. And that this meaningful conversation escapade has been using a broken compass to guide you. North has been right in front of you the whole time. What's north you ask? A snake. A Boa more specifically. And this Boa has always been there always platonically loving you, always making you laugh, always listening to you, always reading your poems right away, and most of all always fixing your earrings. This Boa has never abandoned you yet your fog is so thick that you've never taken notice to how much companionship and security has been possible for the last three years. All along the reptilian has slowly became more and more like family to you and has a venom that's sweet with no sting.
The lightbulb has finally clicked, you see it now. It lies in wake glaring at you with jouful eyes. What's scary is the lack of anxiety around the Boa even though you're terrified to go near any of the others.
Finally you see the open unhinged jaw lunging towards you, and you smile as the venom fills your bloodstream. You can finally rest peacefully and happily; for all that the Boa has done for you. You have achieved, Clarity. 

Denial

For the most part I completely agreed with the social stigma that exes are supposed to be these demonic human beings whom of which you never want to see or hear from again. People that suddenly are supposed to mean nothing to you even if they used to be the only thing holding you upright.
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After the last month and a half I couldn't disagree with that idea more. I don't talk to her anywhere near as much as when we were together— when I was happy. Even if that's the case if I allowed myself, I would still be texting her day and night. I still talk about her just as reverent as before. I'll still bring her up and talk about just how amazing everything was— was.... When we were together if I subtracted the hormones really I had the greatest friend in the world and I've realized that's the part of her I can't stand living without— sure I find a random excuse to text her and pretend like everything is back to normal— Oh god how those few minutes become so refreshing!

The saddest part is that I'm too afraid to admit how much I just simply miss talking with her. That special bond, it's just something you can't search for and replace. No Matter the number of nameless hips, sushi dinners, and outdated pick up lines gone through I know none of them could live up to her. So I get irritated, act like it's their fault when in fact I'm trying to recreate the past; feeling obligated to move on by my passing surroundings. I have to sit there and pretend like she doesn't Still have the power to make me fall to my knees and sob.
I know I can't relive the past. It's never been anyone's fault. The universe is uncontrollable. No matter how much of grip on reality us humans think we have something in the atmosphere won't hesitate to rip it away from us. I have to sit there and decide whether it's just simply missing her or if I've somehow fallen in love with our memories. Even knowing all that a part of me is convinced that somehow some Blondie can fix all that, as if a simple 'blow and go' from that girl that says we're only friends can distract from the loneliness, somehow this idea that I've lied  myself into believing that a 'meaningful conversation' with all these other people could magically equate to that Flower-Named Goddess I still catch myself worshipping on accident—My scars constantly twitch expecting a new younger sibling to force itself into the foster home of suffering that is this body. They won't get one. This time is different. This whole time has always been different. This time... I have nothing to deny anymore.

Apathy

I feel nailed down to my bed by the weight of anxiety. I feel no tiredness yet I have no motivation to move from my bed until well into the afternoon. Food stopped tasting good. Gallons upon gallons of caffeine is the only thing that can get me to move anymore. And to hell with any sort of libido just the sheer mention of it is damn near sickening. I somehow find a motionless, white, ceiling more fun to watch than any show or movie. All of the joy has vanished.
Company of other humans can be a pleasant distraction. That is, if I'm Willing to burden them with my horrid presence. Perhaps me viewing myself as a bother to everyone causes it to become more accurate of a thought each day. Or perhaps I've just always been this pointless of a person. I can't even muster up the motivation to die, probably the best ending for everyone. If I'm not moping, I'm just silent, I can't help but bring my issues into every conversation just adding unnecessary weight to everyone else's lives . It's impossible for my sanity to win. The whole situation is a big paradox. If I don't express it I'll feel like shit. But when I pester people for help I feel like shit for bothering them. Everyone's life is hard, not just my own. Still knowing that Doesn't seem to change a thing. What the fuck.

Hatred

Nyctophilia is not merely the love of the night sky but rather getting used to it. Becoming at one with it since it is the only one to keep you company at night. It is settling for the loneliness brought upon by the unwantingness that your aura exemplifies. You wait, and wait, and wait with an anxiety burning so heavily inside you you can't stand still. You don't even feel all that depressed but the constant worry is maddening.

"There's a whole world to explore yet you live in solitary confinement. Forced by your mind. To you, you're simply doing the world a favor, evidently none of them could bare your putrid expression you call a face. You wonder why you're so alone like it's some huge mystery when in fact the whole universe can tell. You don't like being around yourself so how can you expect the rest of the world to?
That's your fault too. Relying on their validation. It all matters and it all doesn't matter at the same time. What are you going to do? Cry? Die? Good luck trying, I enjoy seeing you suffer.  You've earned it; For eternity, obviously since no one is ever going to "save you" or whatever. What's That? Your head hurts? It's called insomnia. And my fucking eyes hurt from looking at you, you goddamn sack of dogshit.  I hate you so fucking much I can't stand it."

I turn away from the It just to try and clear my mind. "Why can't he just die already? The world is so much better off." I decide to take matters into my own hands. I grab the biggest knife I can find and throw it as hard as possible towards It looking away immediately to avoid the blood. All went silent. Except for the sound of shattered glass striking floor, where the mirror used to be.

Friendship

Gwyndolin has come a long way from before. No longer wasting his time on the same girl that acts as though he were a yo-yo; each downward spiral becoming more violent than the last.  He has sought new aspirations or rather switched focus to a girl whom he'd always liked just never got up the courage to talk to. The butterflies in his stomach began to act like wasps, adding a sting of regret for not doing this sooner. To his surprise, upon speaking with her she actually responded, not instantly hating him right away. She wasn't one of those girls who was all about dating in relationships. She simply didn't care, and was somehow content with being single. That's what Gwyn liked about her most. It was an almost envious feeling due to his constant turmoil. Disregarding his crush on her, the only goal was a strong, reliable friendship. Which if provided properly, nullifies the need for an actual relationship. He just wants someone to be there for him. It was impossible to sexualize her. It's never been what he wanted. To him it was such a simple concept. Month's pass with only sparse conversations between them. They were short, but still became the highlight of his day. Eventually things became troublesome. Worries flooded his neural networks day and night. Spending whole evenings lying awake trying to play out and predict in his head how the next conversation would go. To ease this, Gwyn goes and does his best to make plans with her, obviously if they were just friends it shouldn't matter right? I couple weeks go by and the day had finally come. It had all worked out for once. He waits for her at a Brew Ha-Ha close by. For once in his life a girl hadn't flaked on their plans with him.  Gwyn ordered a double shot Latte. His favorite. He was so ecstatic to spend time with her, meanwhile she ordered Hot chocolate, she hated the bitterness of coffee. Almost like the way she cured Gwyn's bitterness. A couple hours went by of talking, one refill on the latte ensued. They talked about their perspectives on the meaning of life, living in trees, to even starting fictional businesses together. I've never seen him happier.
Dusk ominously approachs them. He wanted to stay in that moment for the rest of his life. Gwyndolin starts to drive her home when they both notice how clear the night sky was. Instead of driving her home, they drove to his house.  The night went on after they arrived as they got closer together, Becoming more sweaty bouncing up and down repeatedly. The two of them loved being on a trampoline. There had been no moon that night. All the stars could shine to their content without worry of being overlooked so easily. The two spent the remainder of their time simply laying there laughing like hyenas as the conversations grew more outlandish. She lay her head on his shoulder as they argue about why Crabs are seen as cancerous. Gwyndolin just smiled, knowing this had become what he had always wanted. Not a relationship, but the perfect friendship.

He awoke the next day immediately jumping at his phone to talk with her about the joys of the day before. However her number was suddenly gone. And the trampoline had disappeared. He checks his arm to notice how the scars still haven't healed, if anything they've reopened. The realization that everything was a dream was soul crushing enough. Gwyn also knew that it would never actually have the chance to happen. Which only made it even worse. He still had his originally best friend. He hadn't gone anywhere. He's always been there. Depression would always love Gwyndolin. No matter what.