incolore

three feelings more than us (by Rona Keller)

I don’t care what those other good boys tell you, I’ll love your fake lashes and lipstick and foundation and mascara and six inch tall heels and tight skirts and cigarettes and vodka, as long as you can wipe that facade off some nights and fall asleep in my arms, as long as you stay.

Today is my birthday. Today I turn twenty. The sun shone it’s best for me and I guess I could say luck was on my side but truth is I’ve never felt more alone. I woke up at three in the morning for my first lonely cup of coffee and my first lonely cigarette and sang myself a lonely birthday song and I don’t think I have ever woken up this early or smoked this many cigarettes in a day so just give me a call, send me a text and let me know you still remember, ask me how I have been doing and maybe I’d lie and tell you that I don’t miss you anymore, lie and tell you that I’ve been just fine.

"
I looked for that which is not, nor can be,
And hope deferred made my heart sick in truth:
But years must pass before a hope of youth
Is resigned utterly.

I watched and waited with a steadfast will:
And though the object seemed to flee away
That I so longed for, ever day by day
I watched and waited still.

Sometimes I said: This thing shall be no more;
My expectation wearies and shall cease;
I will resign it now and be at peace:
Yet never gave it o’er.

Sometimes I said: It is an empty name
I long for; to a name why should I give
The peace of all the days I have to live?-
Yet gave it all the same.

Alas, thou foolish one! alike unfit
For healthy joy and salutary pain:
Thou knowest the chase useless, and again
Turnest to follow it.
"

(5:46pm)

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I like being stationary. Stationary at the corridor ledge at two o’clock in the morning with a glass of vodka and a cigarette. Stationary at the corridor ledge at six in the morning with a cup of coffee and another cigarette. Stationary and safe beneath shelter roofs during the rainy season, timing the intervals of the fall the water makes between each drip from the roof. Stationary and stagnant as each day goes by, stuck in the past and refusing the future, feckless beyond repair. Stationary here, in wait for someone to pull me out of this colourless abyss of despair, or for someone to finally destroy me, before I can destroy myself.

Either way I wouldn’t feel so alone.

(3:14pm)

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