Hush

What did I do? No, don't say.
Allow me to go through the different scenarios, the spoken and unspoken words.
The hours are tasteless when the tension and the spark in our worlds collide.

I gently beat myself around the bush from a truth I can't handle.

E.Y.

The missing photos.

I couldn't find them, the photos taken 3 years ago, from a trip I had been longing for all my life.
There were fifty seven of them. I can still remember every frame, every agony caused by the city of my dreams; the city of neon lights.

I was deceived by my delusional state of mind, not knowing what life was good for me. My soul was homeless and had no substitute for belonging. Every picture taken in every corner, from every angle, was coming back to me as the autumn of grief.

The bright colours appeared black and white with the shades blurred between fantasy and reality.

E.Y

You and me forever.

It was Saturday morning. She was picking up wet towels from the bathroom floor and throwing them in the laundry basket. Again and again, she was tidying up after vandals and plunders that call themselves a man. She resented it.

Lately, she had stopped singing in the shower and was deeply absorbed in thoughts. Certain things were like a bad hangover, you always wish you hadn't done it. But a weak moment always steers our actions and we always end up paying for it.
She should have ignored the calls and learnt from before. Whatever you gain, you lose more.

Besides the mess they created, they were always so damn hungry. She dreaded moving on to the kitchen and face the dirty dishes. She brought with her the morning paper, took a quick look at dirty dishes and made an "ack" sound before she sat down at the kitchen table with her wet hair hanging over her shoulders.

A front page article got her attention. "A woman died at the age of 94." it said. She started browsing through the article.
Who was this woman? "94 years old_rich_never married."
Rich,; why else would she make it to the front page? There was always something interesting about old Upper Manhattan women who sat on a fortune, but lived discreet lives.
How was it possible to have lived almost a century alone? There was something majestic about her posture in her picture, yet in contrast with her liberated smile. To come to terms with her own needs and desires and just embraced life the way it was.
However, there was glory in defeat?

After reading the article, she gets up from her chair, her slippers making scuff-scuff sounds as she walks towards the mirror to take a glance at her face which always seems so alienated in the mornings.
She stares at own reflection in the mirror; It's just you and me, forever baby.

E.Y.

Blur.

No, I'm not searching for you anymore. I look at the pavement when I walk and always focus directly to one person when I talk. I don't stammer when I smell your scent or hear a voice similar to yours.

Regardless of the blur in my eyes , my laughter fills rooms and streets like a joyous response to my destined misery.

Blueprint.

They would laugh at her, when she said she felt a hundred years old. But she already knew how things would end.
History was like a broken song track, needed to be started from the beginning and adding a new scratch every time.
There was light at the end of the tunnel but at the end of the light, there was another tunnel.

Explaining was even worse than listening to people who were content with themselves. A so-called merited authority to give advice about everything and nothing, as if there was a blueprint for life.

E.Y.

Rain.

The feeling is always the same...

Depthless.

In Oslo, everybody was talking about the weather; How short the Summer was and I would ask "What Summer?", then we would talk about warm places we would go after New Years, as if a one week getaway would make things any better.

Just like every year, Fall had arrived too early. My emotional curve was pointing downwards, doomed and incontrollable. I didn't feel anything other than a mudded and depthless blue.

E.Y.

Limbo

We didn't belong anywhere, not where we were born or where we were heading.
A limbo state of mind state saddens us as we have no gravity when we try to point our toes to the ground but drift away from ourselves.

E.Y

Women who hated men.

Feminists, why where they always so angry? There must be several reasons, she knew. But were they really all bitter and single women? Or were they just traumatized victims?

She knew from herself; she didn't trust men; didn't trust her father, her own brother or any other man she was related to. Throughout her life, she'd seen so much of their selfishness that she was in doubt of their capability to make a good dead without anything lying beneath. She'd seen them manipulate things into their own favor and still act like a man.

She didn't trust them during the day or at night when they sneakingly walked behind her, making her fear her own shadow.

E.Y

Counter-Question

People answering a question with a question; I could strangle you; for talking in riddles and getting back at for something that lies deeper.
I choose to see myself as a random victim, who happened to be there at that moment, rather than digging and adding another worry to my scribbled life.

There is nothing more frustrating than making the other undermine their own intellingce while they're looking for an answer.
Every entertainer needs a crowd and even in a bad comedy, there is always a scapegoat. A constant abuse of a person's sincerity is chewed and spat back at as the obsvering crowd grows taller and taller while I become smaller and smaller.

I remain calm. I clench my fist underneath the table while my imagination takes over.

Little did you know, that in the end it would cost you and lead to endless time of loneliness where you would forget the sound of your own voice.

If anything is to be remembered, it is that people never forget, hence they never forgive.

E.Y

Black litterbag

Wouldn't it be tempting, waking up on a blue Monday, cutting the top and corners of a black litterbag, wear it over your head and put a belt around your waist?

E.Y

Silence is gold.

You stand alone. It's her words against yours and you feel humiliated for not being able to defend yourself or justify the outcomes of the mess to a third person. A mess so deep that has been building up for days and eventually left you holding the bag.

Silence is gold for the quiet one. They observe,keep things to themselves and crouch beneathe the surface without gathering any attention. Loud people are said to be the ones who carry, based on their self confidence and boldness but the quiet one takes advantage of the loud ones' sincere stupidity and hit them hard when they're down.

The loud and the pompous may not be the ideal person, but in a true world, they are the ones most reliable and trustworthy.


E.Y

Strength, Courage and Stupidity?

Bar to bar, pub to pub. Call it whatever you want, this "marathon" you partake on a Friday evening after work, when the tiredness of the whole week sinks in and gunk from the morning make-up starts to gather in the corner of your eye.

But we're single and we're free. Opinions are divided on what we should do to change our single status; Some say "You'll never meet anyone by sitting at home " while others refer to going out as a waste of time.

Bar to bar is an efficient way of scouting locations and often not reaching the point where you take of your coat. We might be single and free, but time is not on our side.
There is an appetite, in the beginning for observing and socializing. Strangers come and go and like skimming through clothes on a hanger, you eliminate them one by one. Conversations become shorter and since no one has the energy to talk, understanding a word repeated even five times become hard.

Gradually, as drunken strangers use your shoulder to lean on or your cell phone becomes sticky from someone else's spilt beer, it makes you wonder if there was a good movie on TV that night.

By all means, kudos to the ones for trying and better luck next time...because you know you will.

E.Y.

Superhuman

Superheroes spend their entire lives hiding their identities. Humans, spend their entire lives searching for their abilities.

It is only natural for every individual to believe that we have skills in a specific area. The truth is that some people are talented and some are not. Milestones can be achieved by practice, but even inborn talents need to be cultivated and nurtured.

The untalented creates a balance between the extremities of the talented and sadly, no matter how hard the untalented continues to search for the answer to "What am I good at?", the only comfort is that they will die trying.

E.Y.

Rush Hour

Rush hours were a funny time of the day, when a mass of random people filled a bus within seconds whilst the daily fatigueness reflected in slow movements and eyes gazed at a certain point.
This overwhelming tiredness had created a cosmic atmosphere just as her ipod shuffled to a song by Florence and the Machine.

She always enjoyed this everyday ritual of observing people who got on and off the bus. Where did they live? Where did they work? What were they having for dinner?

From the corner of her eye, she could feel a mans roving eyes. His awareness of her, got her curious about him. Their eyes met very shortly, but the search for a wedding ring was instinctive and also crucial, being a single woman's cryptonite.

Once again, the stars weren't aligned in her favor. The gold ring on his finger, was if nothing; a symbol of a man married to his habits.

After all, isn't that what most men were...married to their habits?

E.Y.

Time

Time, it was all I had and I didn't know what to do with it.

You see I spent most of my life comparing myself to others, deciding on what I could and what I couldn't do as the sand ran through my fist like an hour glass.

E.Y

Who were you?

Right there, across the street from where I'm standing now is where you were patiently waiting for me 3 months ago.

Your cheekbones highlighted by the streetlight, my attention was drawn to your wavy hair, flying in every direction. Your Sebago shoes, Chino pants and your grandpas old blazer made you smell like an old man, giving you that extra maturity every now and then.

You balanced me gently between my tantrums and my thrills. Always resting your cheek on your hand when I wandered off topics during feverish conversations, needing to be reminded of what we really were talking about.

The cold December wind slaps me in the face as I awake from these thoughts and remember the site of you.

You...Was there really a you?

E.Y

Sober

It's funny how everything is out of order but you're still sober. Like the last leaf hanging on a tree, on a cold winters day.

E.Y

The Carousel

There'a an image of a magnificent carousel in my mind with fascinating figures and incandescent lighting, which is repeatedly disturbed by a scratch in the organ music in the background.

Each time I see my own reflection in the moving glass mirrors, I feel weakened and fail to get hold of the brass rings on the horses.

I wouldn't mind missing it at all really. If only they would stop smiling; the kids and the lovers on the chariots, holding hands.

E.Y.