mailed from a beating heart;

 




— by Blue 


        The sound of the keyboard is music to my ears. The ink of the pen left on my notebooks are like paintings for me. But no matter how much I enjoy them, they are only half of what they were intended. What is the use of a message when it is nothing but unsent mail? Scrapped letters are meant for the bin. 


        Yet I could never throw them away. Even if they could never reach the height of their destiny, I could never resent them. They hold a part of me that I have carefully crafted out of the half truths of my soul. 


***



        If someone where to write a letter for every word that I have chosen not to speak of, I would have a mountain of letters with not enough postmen to deliver them. If someone were to honestly filter out the truth from the lies, the reality from deception, I wouldn't have been left with just a smiling face and empty eyes. I would instead be granted the never ending paper that bore the messages that I would have wanted to send. 


        I may have written a lot of things on my own, but it's hard to maintain the honesty. What is real is often times not entertaining enough to make someone stay so I deemed it easier to be heard if I could just pour a little bit of sparkling magic into my bitter glob of a letter soup. Countless of people have read those words of mine, my letters with no address and no addressee. I wrote them with the intention of fooling everyone that they deserve to read my messages, even when I was only wishing for a sole person to read them. 


***


        This is a letter of apology. I may have started with my excuses, but know that I am trying my best to say what I really mean. I hide my words through poems and songs. I hide my sadness through fiction and fairytales. I hide the words I have always been meaning to tell in unclaimed letters holding not my real name, nor the names of the people I wish for them to be sent too. 


        With all my lies and my disguises, with all the names I have used to hide who I am, with all the songs I have sung to be heard, with all the stories I have written to give my thoughts to other characters that weren't me, I apologize for never coming out with just the bare truth. I just can't. But I can be honest with one thing. I lie. I lie all the time. So I'm telling you, it's okay to doubt my words. However, I will never confirm your suspicions, and sometimes I wouldn't even deny. I will confuse you. That is where I am good at. So... 


                I am sorry for deceiving you. 




______ Thank you so much for reading ^^

art used made by your truly, blu




Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

POSSESSION OF THE SOUL

Image
  -- by Blue [ trigger warning: mentions of self harm ] People have heard rumors. They say a flock of monsters have snuck into town and disguised themselves, blending in with the folk to conceal their true nature. They say these beings don't have true faces. They are like dolls with no paint on their faces, no stitches to show where the mouth and the eyes were. They are mere empty bobble heads, with probably empty brains as well. They say these monsters are stupid, but what they lack for sense they fill in with their confidence.  "That's how they're so fearless to even fool the King's daughter from the East," the young lady tending for the bar of the tavern whispered in a rather conspicuous way so that all the men and women could hear, ale held back in their throats. Hearsays and tales probably laced with lies were not new in a place such as this tavern. Every gathering posed chances of spreading stories. The truthfulness behind them didn't matter. What pe...
Read more

EMPTY SHELL

Image
  — by Blue I met a machine once. It had an iron plated body and its brain was connected with wires. Its body was starting to rust, the power inside barely flickering the light in its eyes.  I asked this machine, "What is your name?"  "I don't remember. I had a name once, but I chose to forget," it said.  I asked, "Why?"  "Young one, I chose to forget that as well. Everything, perhaps, started with the fact that I have thrown away my past to create this synthetic body in place of a once rotting flesh that could die at any moment in time."  The machine told me a story then, a hypothesis that was formed from years of missing memories. A highly likely story that explains the origins of the wires that made its robotic brain going and the empty ribcage that housed not a heart but a pulsing something that pumps electricity—steady and static, not erratic.  Once, perhaps, there was a human with a soul. It wanted a lot of things. It wished a lot of wi...
Read more

yellow

Image
  -- by Blue [ trigger warning ] yellow. i feel the warmth of yellow with the sight of it. the brightness overpowers my eyes leaving me almost blind. the sun glares at me, whether that be in a painting or if I try to look it up on the sky. i am blinded by the intensity of yellow.  i see the meanings of yellow in signages encouraging happiness. the smiling emoji beams at me with its yellow skin. it goes beyond the simple glare as it bears stars on each eye. excitement and joy, these very emotions plastered on its imaginary irises.  i ought to give a smile in return, i told myself. i ought to reflect the hue of happiness in the faces of strangers, of friends and other people. i ought to, i told myself again. it is to be expected. but yellow... perhaps for me was different. it does not only mean the positive things on the advertisements that entice the human eye. it does not only mean the warmth and light of sunshine.  for yellow... yellow also means sickness... and per...
Read more