The Depression Diaries, n°68: sun & moon

Noise. Too much noise. To be honest I want to put my hands over my ears and press it down until the only thing I can hear is your voice inside my head saying things you, actually, never said. I know, I know, but the illusion of you it's still so nice. The noises keep getting higher and higher. What were you saying? Oh, you were laughing at your own silliness, I remember that, I remember it all. Gradually, I forgot a lot of things: my phone number, how much I hate my father, one of my kids' birthday, an umbrella on a bus because I got distracted. Never you, though. I kept it under my skin, don't worry; you'd never have to worry if I had the chance to have one wish truly fullfiled. I don't mean anything when I say this, the arrows won't come back, I know, 알아, but I still remember you hugging me and grabbing my arm while we were walking; your hands were so cold but I never cared, at least in the good days I still can see your fingerprints. I remember the way your glasses slightly fell off on the top of your nose when you laughed too hard, I remember us eating leftover pizza at 7am like it was the best meal in the world. I should throw this tape away, dust won't make anything beautiful. Bullshit, it's still beautiful even when I remember how you pushed me away, you were insecure; you still are, how can you not see that the fire in me was extinguished a long time ago — and you shine like a golden god and so spontaneously — so I never got it. I remember the exact moments of the seven pictures that you took of me, I remember when you tightly held my hand because you were scared, because you didn't want to get lost behind me, because I didn't want to leave you exposed to any peril; it was always natural, I said before, I hope I never question it. I pulled out the knife you stuck on my chest and counted it all and I remember all the ways that you've looked at me: the soft eyes when you approached me like a shy cat, the pissed off eyes when you had to deal with—, the playful eyes when you were having fun (I hope you had), the sparkling eyes when you were drunk, the panicked eyes when—, the sad eyes you thought I didn't notice at 4am and you slept beside me, the warm eyes turning into crescent moons when I said something questionable funny, the almost mean eyes when you felt threatened like a feline, the why-are-you-like-this eyes when I was being too loud. What I'm trying to say is that it will take at least three lifetimes for me to comprehend that, no I didn't hallucinated, you existed right in front of me. Oblivion is on the next door.

The world is so noisy, so fast, so unforgiving. I fell in the wrong rabbit hole and no, they didn't give me a choice. They say there's always a rainbow after the rain; it has never stopped raining since the ground opened a hole under my feet and dragged me down, I have never stopped falling. There isn't a real explanation to what I'm feeling and I'm sure as hell I'm about to throw up all my unsaid and undone stuff, and yet during the day I still wonder if you had nice meals. Everybody told me there were many roads ahead of me, so so so much roads I'd be even tipsy just from the sight of it. How can I explain I got blind? You see, I keep saying to myself it's not my fault, however that's not the tale these claw scratchings inside my chest are trying to tell. Oh darling, I'll be fine, I just need to be miserable first. So much noise, l want to punch all of them (never you, not even when you threw me off a cliff) and draw flowers with my blood. Don't feel bad about it, I know you never did but I want to say it anyway; you are a book in a language that sometimes I could understand, though it was never completely I've always did my best anyway. Whenever I allow myself to think I'm in the right place I end up trying to holding on to things already very far from my reach; that's what I get for growing up with ghosts.

History will have so many names, I hope one of them it's yours. But be careful about your corpses, everything has a price. I've always said your name is marvelous, it's not for old people, it's the smell of ice cream in the end of a hot afternoon. But it's not here, I say it again and again and again while my heart deals with the cracks on their walls because of your earthquake, I have to get used to not live in the eye of the storm. Aprés tu, le delùge is nothing but a child's playground, I don't know how to swim and you don't work under pressure, that's why we sunk. I'll make sure you get out of anything alive, you know that. That's why it'll be your name in their mouths, full of love and promises and presumptions of who you are, and you never were that. They're never bored though, neighter I did. An earthquake, a thunderstorm; there was always something on my way back home, never predictable because I believed, and I still do, that you were a uncategorized force of the nature; I remembered that yesterday, I remembered that but I forgot to eat because breathing was suddenly so painful and I was almost sorry again, I don't want you to be, but I always am. You've always brought the rain, it used to be enough.

Despite it all I'm still true to my words; even if this body isn't my body anymore, even if the world disappeared in three days, even if you're thirty five with crappy boots, even, even, even, I'm always here. I'm not quite waiting, a word for this doesn't exist yet. It isn't hate, something I wish I could feel for you, you're like a puppy in the front display of a pet store which is kinda odd because you never had one, so I guess you became one. The world still spins around and I'm not waiting, forgive me if you never stopped living inside my head. My head, you see, is the noisiest place in the whole Creation, but there's a palace of gold only for you, whom is also made of gold, I've been trying to build a few in those last years, never really good enough, you'll never get to see but I wish you like it. Where else should've kept all these things you gave me and I don't want to throw it all away? I lost but I built a palace, remember? I do, always. You never did, but you bring the rain so it's alright. The time in there is quite odd, it feels like you were here a couple of weeks ago, however a million years has gone by. I'm not waiting, but if I lived enough to see you again it wouldn't be that bad. I shouldn't, though. I shouldn't. The clock in the tower doesn't wait for me, or you, and I wish I was running forward; I glued my feet on the floor, I don't mind, it's not your fault and I'm not waiting. In my head you're touching miracles in the future, but hey, that wasn't really you and I'm sorry if I tried to put strings on your brain and I'm sorry I kept the knife you craved in my chest; understand me, I don't want to forget you.

At first it felt like drowning, but I know what it's is like and this is not it. It's possible you made me feel an emotion still unknown by the human race, it's possible this is what the breaking of a heart sounds like. It's possible to repair covering the cracks with gold, never the same though; I have no shame in admit that the only loud noise I'd gladly bear for the rest of my life is the untamed power you have over me, I'm foolish enough to forget the destruction you already caused. I'm not waiting, but this is where I leave you; I'm trying to feed myself with the memories I have left. I'm not waiting for any new person because none of them are you, there's only you in this universe, nobody can replace this chair beside me. I would erase all of me just to have more space to store more of you and this is not waiting, I don't let go of things but this is not waiting. I look careless at the sun and I see your face; I look at the moon and I'm supposed to be there; at least my body should be able to be spotted, but there's only rain and an army of you.