Ain’t it funny how writing is the last resort you turn to when you’re so ashamed of yourself you don’t even wish to speak? When you’ve got so much, yet there’s so much missing, that you just wanna say it, to someone, to someone you don’t know, you’re just wishing for a stranger in the night to find you, to tell you their story, to tell you about yourself.
Remember, remember, remember the reason, your Reason, remember your Love, remember what pulled you back up, when you were more broken than you could ever be again, because it was the first time? The scars from first wounds never quite heal, do they? They leave a mark, forever, something’s broken, and no matter how well it heals, the scar is there. Remember! Not the scars, ‘cuz they are there to remind you anyway, remember the Reason you found back then, remember the promise how you will never betray it? The feeling is like you owe to it your life. The Reason that saved you, your greatest Love, your greatest Pain.
They teach you all life long that you should learn to let go of the past, yet you owe your life to the past. You literally owe your life to that first Reason, that first Love. And you start repaying your debt. And you sacrifice all fleeting clumsy moments of truth or devotion, of ecstasy and passion, of love…
“You have to move on, for him! Look, you wanna race with the champs, you gotta be right up there, running their speed!” When you’ve got nothing else left, that’s what you do – you pick someone and label him a reason! And invest your love, your plans, you lie to yourself that it’s all gonna work out, and it may, eventually if you’re lucky… How can you be my reason, I don’t even love you! I don’t even know you! You think time’s enough? To mend a broken life, to pretend you’re starting a new one… You think… time never heals, my darling-dear! It never lets you forget, either! Or maybe it lets you. It never let me forget. The First Reason. The First Love. “O, know sweet love I always write of you, | And you and love are still my argument.”
So, where are you, my stranger, my bright flickering screen, take my words, listen to my pointless ramble, yet another night, take me in your cold embrace, dear darkness?! Ain’t it funny how writing is the last resort you turn to when there’s no one else who’s ever felt remotely close to you… And who ever can understand/feel/love you if they haven’t, if they know not what resides inside you, and if the only one who ever knew is dead… gone from this world, your reality!
“I can take a masquerade and show you that I don’t need to cry…
…so many times you make me cry, but I got no reason to deny
Because I’m here and still alive!”