peculidar

[peculidar]

open ending

There is freedom to be found in explosive good byes with foundations crumbled, wreckage strewn across floors, anguish crunching at my feet, melodic to my spine.

There is pleasure in that pain. the artistry, the theatrics.  a farewell can linger, maim even, but it is still a comfort, when all is said and done.

For there is nothing worse than the unfinished. a dangling question mark, mocking in its simplicity, impenetrable in its stance. there is no forgetting. no moving on.

just the endlessness of being (or not being) yours

[peculidar]

A love of vessels

I was always one to explore abandoned buildings, rabbit holes, and the gaps between my fingertips. Infinitely mesmerized by empty spaces, geographical distances, and heavy silences.

My infatuated musings aim to fill the absence. Pouring sugar into every crevice, marveling how it takes shape like liquid, yet remains gritty like my thoughts.

Every now and then Mr Hollow finds me and I’m hooked again. For what can be more alluring than another person filled to the brim with your inner most secret desires?

[peculidar]

midnight mistakes

He’s online and I know I shouldn’t. nothing good can come from the damage, from the baggage, the wreckage, the hurt.

He’s online, but surely I wouldn’t just open up that window and type everything I feel.

He’s online, but I’m not drunk. so, there are no excuses,  nothing to point a finger to, no possible reason.

He’s online. I shouldn’t. He’s online. I wouldn’t? He’s online. 

I did.

[peculidar]

you don't know me

but I live by the sea now and wear floaty long dresses with flowery prints

you’ve never seen me, but I can run pretty fast or stand perfectly still, depending who’s watching 

you’ve never heard my voice, cursing up a frenzy, when I chop the tomatoes wrong,  squishing them to a spatter

you haven’t yet met me with all my frays and loose ends, with my loud snorty laughs and wide-eyed intensity

and

I still don’t know you, with all your quiet wisdom and subtle assurances. 

One day we might run into each other. your smiles might be a bit toothy and you may be excellent at cutting all vegetables. I just really hope that one day you might actually exist.

[peculidar]

quiet nothings

it’s in all the ways I say nothing and do nothing, when I’m trying not to be selfish, when my mere presence feels overwhelming, imposing, a chore.

I cannot assume, expect, or even desire reciprocity for these explosions inside, so I must stifle them, harbor them, hold them close to my chest as they scorch the fabric of my being dear, I choke on them when they come scratching, creeping, squirming up my throat in futile attempts to verbalize the kinds of words used by narcissists to wield control. words I feel at my core, as they dance and mix with my bone marrow, as they hang heavy in the air around me, unspoken words that could only ever be a burden to you

[peculidar]

in hiding

keep your cool

when the words he strings together fall into your lap like missing pieces from an unfinished puzzle you forgot you started

joke about it

when his attention cradles you in a warmth so intense, it sprouts  an affection that consumes  your whole being

find distance

when his silence torments you like a moving shadow on the wall seconds before you close your eyes to go to sleep

hide

when you know you can’t  fucking go through all of this again.

[peculidar]

It stops being love the moment you try to control the person you care for. Manipulation of any form, at its core, is the exact opposite of love. It’s a mental cage you’re inflicting on someone, a game.

Setting your own boundaries? That’s the way to go. Breaking someone else’s? That’s a nope

#musings #limerance

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I’ve been gone a year. Did you miss me, Tumblr?

[peculidar]

Let’s take a moment to recall a memory. Not any memory, mind you. 

Let’s find the one that stirs the mind on sleepless nights. The one that comes so suddenly in line at the grocery store. The instant flashback that brings about a facial twitch, involuntary, noticeable by the lady in front of you. The shopper with the discount potatoes in her cart, the dirty sort you never buy although you know they’re better for the earth. You wish she’d mind her own business.

Yes, that’s the one. 

The sting of failure with a pinch of comedy and a lifetime supply of regret.

Write about that.

#note to self

[peculidar]

fly fly butterfly

Butterflies seldom affect our lives as we scurry through defining moments, hesitant to take leaps when it is the small acts that matter most.

The swipe of a finger on a phone behind the wheel of a car seconds before disaster. The unsubtle glance at a beautiful stranger internalised by a lover for years to come.

The choice to get seconds as your coronaries heave and groan in dismay.

The compliment paid to a waitress fighting low self esteem, who now feels pretty.

Swishing silently, quivering gracefully; the wings of the butterfly hover over every inhale and exhale, every movement, every word. Power unimaginable, influence incredible; until the day you stop listening to the fluttering of wings and hear the beating of your  human heart.

It is time to forgive yourself for that defining moment where it all went wrong.

[peculidar]

air bomb

it's the emotional nudity of it all. a direct line, an incision, a jolt, it's an electric pump filling your core with an air that makes you float a mere mortal seconds ago, with unwashed dishes and a set of errands to run, you swell from the warmth, rise above the ground, soar toward the skies, like a God. your eyes water from the tickling sensation inside. how long until you're out of oxygen?

how long until you burst and fall to the ground?

does it matter?

[peculidar]

hold ‘em

there is danger in numbers days passed, months spent in suppression. fears accumulated. too many to count

the odds were always against us, my darling

yet we remain, piling chips onto a table of dreams, tame and tender, soft yet precise. darting glances over card tricks, baiting breath  with lovely surrender.

My king of hearts, this round I'm all in.

[peculidar]

It's the sleepless nights that get you. When the mind's eye wanders over to the wall, to that man-made barricade you assembled ever so quickly, promising never to look back. It runs over the cracks in the cobblestone, the tiny holes that let light into the darkest parts of your mind.

You have to turn away then. In rapid, robotic movements, your chest clenched so tight you can barely breathe. Because the truth is still there. Buried beneath the rubble, behind the wall, beyond the denial, nestled up to your heart like a kitten, softly purring as it claws you with warmth. Then you throw up the meal that isn't there because the hollowness transcends everything.

Until it subsides in one way or another.

Until it is lulled again and reality seems possible and, yes, of course, you're doing the right thing. You are doing the right thing.

You are doing your best.

[peculidar]

loss

like grief, it comes in stages. sneaks up on morning walks where my phone rests in my pocket, no longer a portal, but a  boring device. no apps for escapism, none to take me back to the spring-time haze,  where the world broke down while we soared above, oblivious. the dreariest of butterflies, knowing only the beauty of their own wings, the flight. speaking an eternal language when, in fact,  we were so very mortal, so very fragile, easily destroyed by nature itself.

I mourn the loss of wings almost as much as the eternity that should have been ours had it not been impossible, improbable, pure lunacy, in fact.

the hardest part is knowing you feel the same, watching the same Northern sky, knowing you’re trying to figure out if there really was no way to stay in the clouds, be they grey and thunderous, dreadful in their danger, delightful in the suffering we could have shared. I wonder too. I feel the pull every day, shoulder blades tingling,  aching for another season of skies with you.

[peculidar]

Lobotomize

Erase the voice that rings in my temples nervous and laughing with pauses that promise more than can ever be said.

Clear my memory of the chat window font, so his words don't appear on the backs of my eyelids when I'm trying to sleep.

Shrink my heart back to what it was before. A mere organ - small and regular, ticking normality. Not this weighted butterfly bomb, aflutter with longing, desperation, regret.

Allow me the freedom to exist in his orbit, without plotting murder against anyone he talks to, cares about, loves.

Lobotomize me. Amen.

[peculidar]

I cannot touch you

not in the way only a loved woman can touch a man. Soft as silk, firm as a grip on a life raft.

I cannot hear your voice in all its varieties, cursing the coffee machine first thing in the morning, or whispering good night into the spot of neck behind my ear.

All I have are words, lines, images and painful fragments of a love that could never be. 

[peculidar]

purgatory

there is a sadness between us, like a mothball left in a shirt pocket slowly oozing poison throughout the day.

our ghosts dance in limbo, filling theaters with our act. the lines get harder to recite on this, our eighty-fifth showing. reviewers will be disappointed. poor delivery, they'll say.

insincere.

when all I really want to do is burn the stage, blow up the theater, end the waking dream that is both tender, and caring, and all-knowing, but is also abundant with missed signs, greedy thoughts, and sickening truths.

still our ghosts will dance in limbo, unable to let go as our physical bodies indulge in the warmer climates, safer options, and softer ecstacies of reality.