.
Wish
Tuesday, September 09, 2008 @ 9:26 PM |
(0) comment(s)
I still look out of my window at night.
I will lie in bed and resort to childish games
as a way of evading the more important things in my life.
as a way of evading the more important things in my life.
I divagate between the real word and the one that exists only in my head.
This is a world, a parallel universe, a fantasy, which;
when blurred with reality, creates a story;
with chapters that tell of dreams and wishes,
with chapters that tell of dreams and wishes,
life experiences and insignificant people which enter into my life.
This is a story which is kept only between myself and the stars.
It will never be told, and you will never hear it.
It will never be told, and you will never hear it.
It is always the same story that is told.
It is a sad tale of a perfervid girl,
a girl who does not know whether to trust anyone anymore,
who hides away, in some lonesome corner of a room.
There I go again, confusing reality with my supposedly happy story.
No matter how hard I try, the fantasy which I envisage always ends up telling the truth;
it always mocks me and shocks me back into reality,
back into the same corner of the room, where I really sit,
starring out of that same window, at those same three stars,
telling them the same story, time after time, night after night.
The happy story has been told so many hundreds of times,
and yet I will still find myself forgetting it.
I can only remember when I stare at those stars,
they are always there. I tell them the story to get away from reality,
they are always there. I tell them the story to get away from reality,
but every time reality floods into my story and swamps my thoughts.
The stars are trying to tell me that the more I isolate myself from reality,
the more reality is going to try and find me.
Should I listen to the stars? I have tried. Many times.
Should I listen to the stars? I have tried. Many times.
Each time just as unsuccessful as the last.
Sometimes I worry that the stars will explode,
unleashing thousands of nasty memories
and hopeless wishes over my world,
and then people will find out my secrets,
my story will be exposed for everyone to read
and nobody will understand. Stardust.
Stardust is not made from glitter and dust.
Stardust is made from memories and wishes
and murderous stories and dreams of a better life;
and murderous stories and dreams of a better life;
depressing tales from depressing girls who wish for something else.
There have been points in my life
where I have wished that one of these stars will become thyestean
and engulf the others and then itself;
in order to eradicate these memories from the world.
These times have been the good parts of my life,
but life always returns to the way it was.
I am starting to think that that is all that there is to life;
that is the way that my life is supposed to be.
This does not stop me from telling the story to the stars though.
“Starlight, star bright, the three stars I see tonight,
I wish I may, I wish I might, have this dream I wish tonight,
I wish…I wish that things were better.”
Two years and eighty two days.
Two years and eighty two days.
It still has not happened.
My story has not taken over reality for good.
The stars are just a childish game,
a way of wasting time whilst I am waiting to be happy again.
They are probably just reflections in the glass anyway.
Labels: By: bexidaisy
◄ Older posts
Newer posts ►