The Lone Ranger

There are few variations of people in the world; Suckers and fools, Thieves and Heroes, Fuckers and Lovers etc.
But it all falls into another category, that being: The Dependent and The Independent.
Sure, we all “need and want” someone at times, but some genuinely cannot live without the reassurance that there is someone, something watching over them. And then there are people who go through life believing they are in it for themselves, no one to hold them down and no strings attached. It’s debatable who the better of these opposing teams is. One could certainly agree that a healthy balance of both is the key to living successfully.
Moments occur though that makes us stumble to one side more than the other. Such as Love or “Love”. That is when we are a Sucker in the chapter of our life. We get into a mind frame of believing that we cannot live without this other half. Romanticism believes this is true. For the next days/weeks/months/years we depend on this person to tell us what to do, to finish our sentences, to make us feel happy. Then, the time comes where this ends; you are disorientated and have no idea how you are going to go on. No longer do you have someone to catch you when you fall.
It is the next step from there that changes everything; the fork in the road. You either wait for someone to pick you up, or you get on with life; familiarising yourself with loneliness. Most stay limp, waiting for a rebound. It’s easier to depend on something. That is why people believe in religion. The utter reassurance is the only way they can get on with life. Faith, I hear they call it.
I myself, fall under “The Independent”. I never used to be. But I had to be; otherwise I would still be as sad as a neglected child. I am accustomed to being alone now; except I find it harder to be openhearted now instead. The pessimist in me tells me there is no point. But I am trying. Whatta’ war story.
I am a Sucker, a Fool and a Lover.
I am, The Lone Ranger.

In another city

I am a nomad these days.

Nothing feels like home except where my everchanging heart lays.

I am back where i once was, it feels like putting on an old coat.

The sweet smell of memories is dense in the air around me, yet i am unsure if i should feel happy or sad.

that is all for now.

test

12

As the night closes to an end

We have nothing to distract us from the constant desire we chose to ignore.

It’s quarter to three.

It's full.

She turns the taps anti-clockwise and the room becomes quiet.

She breaks the silence when her foot is the first to step in. Ripples are created and move in synchronisation to the rim.

At last her body is emerged in closure. She is weightless. The dirt of the day slithers off. Here, she bathes in her woes.

Apathy floats past her shoulder, regret curls between her toes. She moves her hands up her legs to her chest, and the problems drift off.

This is the only moment of solitude in her life. The only moment where everything is as still as water; as smooth as the jazz she hears making its way into her ears.

Temptation dips its finger in, leaning over the edge. She opens one eye and watches; she always finds it hard to shake him off. You can't always let everything slide.

She repositions her leg, dangling her toes over the edge and watches the steam coil and twist off her skin.

There she lay, just for a while. Nothing is felt, until she notices it is no longer warm and her fingers have pruned.

She climbs out and slips back on her petticoat. She is clean.

 

It's empty.