"Jaydon…"
I'm still waiting for this to have some kind of effect on me. This moment, this place, the smell, the tear stains on your cheeks, the monster that is reflected in your eyes; my vain attempts of trying to feel something.
"Please talk to me"
A wave of goose-bumps washes me like feathers teased across my skin. And for a moment I think I had a glimpse of clarity. It's gone again. I'm fighting this just as hard as you are. Breath, relax, let go.
"Don't do this please."
More beautiful than razorblades and candle wax, more enlightening than meditation and asceticism, excising myself from you like a cancer, destroying the final strand of beauty in my life. This is my Jesus, and I'm holding the hammer and nails.
"Say something!"
Penitence always comes in short bursts. The pain begins to form in my stomach and I waver, tremble, and fight to keep myself from throwing up; not here, not now. This is my cowardly display of strength, not an ounce of emotion, not a hint of regret, determined, and hollow.
"I can't take this anymore…"
The difference between us is that you will walk away, move on; get over. I will lament over the wound, pick the scabs, and do everything to prevent it from healing much longer than you will even remember my name. This is what I die for over, and over again; to feel the pain, to live a little more, and to restore my beauty in tragedy.
"Goodbye"

It wasn't in your words- twisting around me in the smoke of sandalwood- whispering softly as I inhaled your sweet breath. Nor in your glass eyes staring through the ghost of me, smoldering in the dancing reflection of candlelight, and wavering beneath the pain of razorblade lullabies and candied ginger lies. Maybe it was in a lost dream that I've spent all these years in deja vu trying desperately to pull the memory back into my consciousness. Or maybe it was just in another fabricated memory I constructed to hold onto when it gets too dark to see.

I've known you forever.

We were lost among the ruins of what I thought was right and wrong. Empty as a grave and falling further and further away from where we had belonged. We were the children despised by reason, searching for any form of a heart to follow; and losing ourselves along the way while the world just kept getting larger in every passing mile. I was always the quiet one, trying to find my way all on my own, and refusing your hand to help pick me up every time I fell down. You were always lost in awe at every intricate wonder of nature that fell upon your doorstep, whispering your adorations to heaven and listening attentively as heaven's blessings rained down.

Was I born from you? Or were you born out of all of this?

Seeping through the memories I can barely make out your smile. The silence that permeated the hall was broken occasionally by the chimes of the grandfather clock. Or did I add the silences to my memory when I had forgotten what our laughter sounded like? I still pretend that it was all so real, the games we played, the way you'd hold my hand when I would have another panic attack; the fearlessness in your eyes even as you took your final breath

And I wish that I could still say that this was all I've ever wanted.

Whisper something beautiful because I've run all out of reasons to believe that God is Love and that He doesn't regret His decision to make us free. Draw me in your shadow again; I've always been the dark side of your light, the mystery you created, the beauty lost in your eyes. I keep telling myself that you are here; you've just become too bright in your divinity for me to see. And I know you keep telling yourself that I'm already there, waiting somewhere for you to find me.

I miss you.

Why does clarity come so infrequently? And why does it never last more than a few minutes? I guess we just get so focused on fixing the pieces left of our mistakes that we can't see the forest for the trees, forgetting all of the good intentions that led to those mistakes.

I was exhausted when I finally sat down on the ground, my feet tingling with a relief that slowly worked its way up my legs. I looked around me, shivering as night fell despite the warm weather, and became lost in the overwhelming chant of the insects, and birds; nature's nightly prayer to a god that only they can remember. Where have I been all these years? Sleeping beneath a dozen layers of pine needles, dirt, and insects; waking up every few months only long enough to wipe the crust from my sleepy eyes and look around before curling back up into my dreamless little world.

And where were you? I lost sight of you so long ago that I barely even recognized your face, your child-like smile, and your eyes radiating both joy and pain incomprehensible. Your health and color contrasted my last memory of seeing you; pale, scrawny, and so fucked-up on God-knows-what that I can't imagine you remember anything of our final good-bye. We were barely even acquaintances now, and what could possibly be said after 7 years? Not a single word was spoken that would've made anyone realize that we were once best friends, except perhaps the smug tone of your voice that indicated how much above me you have risen despite my constant attempts to hold you down so many years ago; and the quivering of my voice that revealed how I continue to struggle with forgiving myself for every thing I'd done to you even after all these years.

I curse myself as I cup my hand over the end of a cigarette to light it. I inhale the smoke deeply and slump down on the porch swing exhausted, humiliated, and slightly amused that I can actually taste the flavor of a cigarette again. I'm not sure why I started back up after almost a month of quitting. But I don't know why I decided to quit either.

At least a dozen things fight for attention in my crowded head; none of which bear any semblance of a constructive thought. And I stare at the passing storm clouds as I fall into emptiness amidst the stresses of home, work, the forest, buying a house, helping my family stay on their feet, everyone expecting me to fix their problems, the dizzy spells, controlling my drinking, and figuring out a way to remember how to be creative again.

A new layout is coming within the next month or two.