Tag Archives: Growing Up

Nostalgia

6 Apr

It’s a funny thing ain’t it,

To long for something that’s no longer there,

No way to return nor get it back,

Yet that longing still remains.

Like a veil over our eyes

That is ignored but never overlooked,

It stays like a throbbing pain,

Blurring our focus,

Our vision,

Our path.

Longing for what we can never have,

For it is the past that we cannot touch,

Once passed, never to return,

Yet that longing surrounds us.

We reach but can no longer feel

As our hands pass through time,

While our present goes by before our eyes,

But it is not seen, only to be saw.

Out of grasp but we do not notice,

Hoping for a miracle to save us,

Revive us,

Resurrect us.

While we are alive but not living,

Memories are the safe haven

And the doom to our existence,

Yet that longing is in our core.

It takes over and we cease to exist,

Becoming who we wish not to be,

We cannot stop as it invades

Our being and our soul,

For it is the devil disguised as the good,

And without looking back we fall,

We tumble,

We collapse.

We think it will save us,

Times that were simple

We long to go back,

And the tea is bittersweet.

We are hooked to the drug,

Never stop reaching – it is all we know,

It overpowers and destroys what we once were,

That longing is who we are.

 

perfectlonelyworld

Drifting Away

19 Mar

We used to be so close. We’d barely go a day without talking to each other. Now, we hardly speak, and when we do, the conversation’s strained and unnatural. I can feel us drifting apart. I can see us getting farther and farther away from each other. I know that if I tried, if I reached out a hand, maybe I could still save it, and pull us together again. But I don’t. Because when I try, there’s no response. I text you, but you don’t answer.  I muster up the courage to call your number, but it goes straight to voicemail. And after, I feel embarrassed. Embarrassed to be naïve enough to think it could go back to the way it used to be. Embarrassed that you seem to have moved on while I, I’m still stuck on the same path you left me on. I see you sometimes, with other people, laughing, and I’m saddened by the sight. A wave of nostalgia washes over me, and I can’t help but remember all the times you’d laugh like that when we were together. Or how I could talk to you after a long, hard day and everything would suddenly become a whole lot better. I guess I just miss you. But in the end, I’m too tired to try to get you back. And maybe you don’t even notice it, but I do. I notice the cracks on the ground where we stand. I notice the wrinkles that have formed on the fabric. And I want to hold you close to me. But instead, I let go, and watch you drift farther and farther away.

 

perfectlonelyworld

Life In D Minor

24 Feb

I look at the sheets of music

With titles I can’t read

And notes I used to know.

 

I remember spending hours

Playing and playing,

Until my fingers bled.

 

Tears were shed,

Papers were ripped,

And threats echoed in the room.

 

I longed to stop,

To end the torture

That ruled my life.

 

Yet looking back,

I wish I knew

What I know now.

 

For the piano is a part of me,

The notes are my words,

And music is my life.

 

perfectlonelyworld

Growing Up

17 Feb

As a little girl,

I had big dreams

Some were huge oceans,

Others were little streams.

 

In my innocent mind,

Nothing was impossible

Life was a blank slate,

Yours to make visible.

 

That was when everything was perfect,

Only now do I wonder

Where was the rain before

Where was the thunder?

 

As I grow older,

And reality grows heavier

The illusion I had is gone,

While the storm grows steadier.

 

Is this what growing up means?

Letting go of the rainbow

Putting yourself down,

And forever saying no.

 

perfectlonelyworld

The House That Built Me

15 Feb

The one with the red bricks,

Window at the front

The one with the giant tree,

That’s the house that built me.

 

The house with the rock,

Mighty and round

Sitting at the corner,

On the lawn of the house that built me.

 

The one with the squeaky gate,

And a driveway the colour of night

The one with the crooked pathway

It’s the house that built me.

 

The house with the most Life,

Love, laughter and joy,

It might be lacking in wealth,

But it’s the house that built me.

 

I will never forget,

The times I spent there

For it will always be

The house that built me.

 

perfectlonelyworld

Back In Time

11 Feb

I want to go back in time. I want to go back to a time when things were simpler. When life seemed better.

I want to go back and talk to my grandmother. I want to see her smile, and give her a hug. Most importantly, I want to tell her that I love her.

I want to go back to when I was a baby. When I had not yet known heartbreak, sorrow and pain. When I wasn’t constantly under pressure to be perfect.

I want to go back to when I was five. When I would sit on the rock in our front yard, day after day, after day. Waiting. For what, I’m not sure. Perhaps waiting for my dad to come home from work. Or maybe, I was waiting for the cats who lived across the street to come, so that I could play with them.

I want to go back to that hospital room on that Tuesday night. That night, the last time I saw him alive. I want to give him a kiss on the cheek, tell him how he made me a better person.

I want to go back to when my biggest worry was if the girl sitting next to me in class wanted to play with me at recess.

I want to go back to summer days spent by the pool. Laughing, splashing, talking. When school seemed an eternity away.

I want to go back to evening strolls on the beach. Watching the sun set, the sky aflame. Later, the sky would turn pink. I want to feel the sand in between my toes and smell the fresh ocean air.

Above all, I want to go back and do all the things I wish I had done. I want to relive all the good times of the past, not taking it for granted. I want to take away this regret that is inside me.

 

perfectlonelyworld

 

I Want To Be The President

1 Feb

Remember when we were in grade school, and we had things called “journals”? Small notebooks, where we to write an entry each week. Some weeks, we were given a topic to write about. Other weeks, we could write about whatever we liked. We could always accompany the writing with a drawing. Coloured with many different colours of crayons, of course.

I remember we were once given the topic of “what do you want to be when you grow up”. As a child, I changed my mind a few times about what I wanted to be. First, it was a lawyer. Then, a journalist. After, my mom managed to convince me to be a doctor (story for another time). But at the time that this topic was given to us, I did not want to be a doctor. Nor a journalist. Nor a lawyer. I wanted to be the President of the United States of America. Keep in mind that I was 7 at the time.

You might ask, since when do 7 year olds feel the urge to become the President? What can I say, I’ve always been an over-achiever. But in all honesty, it was because about a month earlier, I had read a biography on John F. Kennedy. My mom had it lying on her desk, and one Sunday morning, when I was up before the rest of my family, I read it. And I was really fascinated by that book too. It was about 200 pages- one of those DK Biographies- and I finished that book in 2 hours. For the next few months, after reading that biography, I proceeded to tell everyone I knew that I wanted to become the President when I grew up. I was 7.

Of course, this was before I found out that I could never become the President, through no fault of my own. Matter of the fact is, I was not born in the USA, and I never will be born in the USA. Thus, I’m unable to become the President of America. I was actually crushed when I found out about this. But regardless, this has been something that has stuck with me through the years. I remember getting back my journal after I handed it in with the entry about what I wanted to be when I grew up. I eagerly flipped it open to see the comments my teacher had written (reading the comments of teachers has always been and always will be my favourite part of getting back handed in assignments and projects). To this day, I still remember what had been written. “You have very big dreams, and I look forward to one day seeing you as the President.” When I think back to it now, she was probably just being nice, trying not to quash my dreams.

I shake my head whenever I think back to that journal entry. I was so naive. And it is embarrassing. I have no regrets though. Now, I can look back, tell the story to friends, and laugh at my 7 year old self. Although I do wish I had that journal… (My family moved a lot, so all of my work from when I was younger were all thrown out)

I still do want to be the President, though. But now, I know it’s not possible. Instead, it will be something that will happen in my wildest dreams. Which isn’t as good as having it actually happen, but it’s okay, I guess.

 

perfectlonelyworld