At first I thought love as destruction due to the simple fact of speaking of death, guns, rain of lead and a general violent picture. But I think it is love as devotion. It is not the bullets and the destruction that is the point of it. The point, as I see it, is how far he is willing to go for her. What he would endure, do for and together with her (which arguably can be destructive in nature, perhaps). And even if their journey should take them to an extreme end in a rain of lead, he would still end his days looking in her eyes and be with her, be there for her.
It almost feels like the panic having no escape.
The desperation of seeing the inevitable coming for you and you have no way of escaping it.
Imaginative: Being able to drift off to a different world, universe or time. Be able to see buildings, nature and the universe itself change inside your mind. To put a charcoal pencil or a brush to a blank canvas and let lines turn into art. Let it all flow out of you. Sit down at a piano or any instrument and find the way to create pictures and movies out of notes created by you own head and hands. Feel words, pictures, emotions, thoughts drift through your body mind and soul, manifesting as poetry, pictures, songs or whatever else you can think of and imagine.
Abandoned: Sitting alone in the house. It isn’t many square metres, but it feel endless. The emptiness of it all is consuming. I’m alone, but that isn’t an issue in itself. It’s the loneliness of it all. No, that’s not right either. Loneliness doesn’t have to be bad. This is something different. To be left alone in the loneliness after having done so much for them to keep them safe and take care of them. I gave them my own safety and my own health. I didn’t realise that was what ruined it. Took me away from them and changed me. Was I really abandoned by them, or did I abandon myself before they left me here alone in this endless house deafened by the silence and the anxiety.
Gloating: “HA!” I exclaimed. “Suck on that,” I continued as I stood up doing a victory dance. My smile developed from a grin to this ugly reminiscent of a smile. It was hovering and smug and triumphant. It felt wonderful until the moment passed and the feeling plummet into self-loathing. I felt dirty and nauseous. I had believed for a moment that my victory in a silly board game had made me better and grander than I was. “What the Hell” I thought. I felt I should have apologised, nut I got ashamed. I felt like a douche. I poured another drink and suggested another game, but the mood has passed.
Affectionate: As she came in the door I greeted with a smile, a huge hug – lifting her off the floor – and kissing her deeply. She started to pull away to take off your coat, but I pull you back in again. I can’t just stop feeling you. Holding you, smelling you. Looking at your smile as I pull you back in warms my heart and sets me on fire. It’s not sexual, what I feel towards you in this moment. Or rather, not only sexual. It’s more than that. So. Much. More.I want to hold you forever, I want to protect you and keep you safe. I want endless mornings lying in bed and just talking and goofing around. I want endless summer nights with wine on the porch, I want to do the laundry with you. Live every part of life together with you.
Torn: I can’t decide. I don’t understand how. Not that I understand what happened in the first place. I just want to not to have to deal with this. Not now. Maybe never? How to say what I want. How to decide?
Safety: We’re nestled in your bed. Under blankets. The room is dark and cool. The night is still young and there’s a long and calm night ahead of us. We are just talking, holding each other and exists in the now. I can feel you start to drift off to sleep. I pull you closer to me and kisses you on the top of your head. You smile, close your eyes and falls sound asleep.
Regretful: My stomach is in a knot. My head feels light and things almost spins around. Why did I do this? Why did I do that? God, I need Doctor Emmet Brown and his DeLorean right now. I would sacrifice almost anything to be able to go back and do absolutely everything different. To make the right choices – or at least different choices than I took.
Smothered: You tell me it’s too much. Im too much. I need to back up a bit. Just for a while. You tell me how you need to feel able to breath your own air for a minute. Not feel watched over all the time. You say I’m trying to control you, that I’m overprotecting. She needs the air, some independence for a bit and feel as your own person.
Tormented: Though it’s been years, but thinking back makes me want to run, hide, cry. There’s no escape. I feel trapped by the feeling from that night. Not the memories, though. They are not really a problem. Or, the memory of how I felt are the problem. IT fills me with dread. It feels like a knife drilling into the bone of my thigh over and over again. It feels like pins being pushed into every nerve in my body. The pain is near getting familiar. It is new every time.
Longing: I miss it. Childhood that is. The everlasting summers spent outside in the woods. Trips with the family, trips to the river to bath in the warm water. Everything seemed so simple, easy and uncomplicated. The biggest decision I had to make was what to do in the woods today, what ice cream to eat, where to ride my bike. Maybe I should see a movie later or go to my grandparents? There’s a great wood there and sheets and lambs. And my grandmas waffles.
Consent: Important. Listen. See. Accept. Think. And when in doubt, don’t do it.
Honour: He would always think about others before him self. He would take choices based on solid facts and good reasoning and he wouldn’t act outside of his moral principles. He would never abandon anyone in need or cause a situation for anyone that would create any difficulties for anyone. If he happened to do so – as would happen from time to time since we are all human – he always made sure to make things right and show up fro the people injured and work tirelessly to repair any damage he had caused.
Strength: He had to kind of laugh at him self. He was looking at him self in the mirror. He looked at his arms and chest. Firm and strong and muscular. He was proud of his body. He was very strong from working hard for years and he had eaten well and taken care of his body to make sure he would function for as well he could for as long he could. He didn’t laugh at his body. He laughed at himself because he could deadlift 150 kilos without much problem, but he couldn’t handle going through this dark period in life. He cried, felt alone and nothing seemed to be going his way. He knew how to handle lumber, heavy sacks of gravel and dirt. But to handle his emotions and feelings he had never thought of. He was strong, earned money, had a wonderful wife. Yet he felt hollow and weak. He figured he didn’t want this. He needed to get strong – in his mind. A strong body will crumble if the mind can’t hold itself up. “Time to lift weights,” he told himself as he entered the therapist office.
Intimating: The news didn’t rally come as a shock. It was surprise, of course. But things had been hinted about for ages. The talk had been steered towards this subject for months, and they hadn’t been exactly coy about changing the topic to it. It was a very pleasant surprise and we all were happy for them. It would be a new chapter of their life, and the looked at us all with such happiness and pride. They had wanted this for so long, but it had been difficult to make it happen. But the hard work had been worth it and now they could just relax for a little while and look forward to this wonderful thing in front of them.
Weird: You are weird. I am weird. He’s weird and not to mention that person over there. That fish is weird and so is this bird. We are all weird in our own way. We can be eccentric, have different abilities, interests, knowledge and different ways to see, feel and think. Every creature is weird in its own way, and we are all wonderful because of it. Weirdness is everywhere and its an evolutionary advantage to be a bit weird. A bit weird beak made bird survive on an island where the food was hard to reach. A weirdly set finger would lead to the opposable thumb. We are weird, we are unique, we all are special. And we are all the same.
Fake: It’s wonderful how at times things that aren’t real – not in this dimension at least – can feel so real. An imagined world in a book about a planet with three moons, or a flat earth where elf and men and dwarves roams around and battle dark forces. It all seems somehow more real and true than this world we live on right now. Things that can’t be sensed with our ears or fingers becomes reality in our minds. It’s just wonderful.
Impressionable: He wasn’t naïve or very gullible. He just liked following others. He liked being convinced about how their beliefs were the right ones. After all, that’s how democracy works. What he didnt like was to take charge himself. To decide and tell others. No, he would let more competent people do that. People who actually liked it. He was happy to work after orders and do what he was told. As long as it made sense. He wasn’t a push-over by any means. If he had doubts he would ask for clarification or more information. When he had been satisfied he was happy to continue as he had been told.
Dominant: He did like to tell others what to do. But not through force. No, that was barbaric. It was through proving himself and deserving the authority that made herblike it. To work for a position of power and to use that position to make other do his bidding. That was what it was all about. To control others. He never intended to do it with fear, but if they happened to fear him a bit, he wouldn’t hate it. As long as they respected him, his position and his authority they would be free to fear or loath him as they pleased.
Relatable: To find familiarity or something known in something or someone. To feel a bond and a common ground through a similar experience or situation. It can create bond across nationalities, language barriers and other obstacles. It can be healing and it can be helpful. To share something with someone you didn’t know you did. It can bring joy, sympathy, or just understanding.
Voluptuous: Curves and shapes. Hips, bosom and bottom. Swaying as she walks. Making me feel jealous of the fabric against her skin.
Elated: The evening had been perfect. The movie was great, the dinner had been delicious and we were able to keep the conversation going and interesting and funny. We had held handspring the movie and we both found each other catching glimpses of each other. As I walked her home the late summer evening seemed to come out from a dream. It had rained earlier in the day, so the air was clean and it smelled of grass, flowers and “summer”. It was late, but not yet dark. We walked holding hands and flirting and asking each other questions about what owe liked about certain parts of the movie. As I bid her a good evening outside her door she leaned in and gave me a soft and warm kiss before telling me “thanks for a good time” with a smile and a slight wink of her eye.
Uncomfortable: As I entered the party I felt eyes to start gaze towards me. I felt like a stray that had been invited as a courtesy. I wasn’t dressed the part, I was both taller and bigger than other there and I felt I stood out as a sore thumb. Everything about me stood out. My long frizzy hair, my beard, my rings and jewellery, my boots. I had alway liked to be the odd one out before, but this time I realised I wasn’t looked at as just just that. I felt like a proper freak, and that had been the reason to why I had been invited. “Come to my party and behold the giant weirdo freak”…
Furious: After I had finally gotten the car back under control and stopped by the side of the road, I exploded in rage. It was rage beyond rage. I had people in the car, and this fucking bastard idiot made such a dangerous overtaking, around a bend, in the dark on an icy road. I had to slow down and drive my car on the road shoulder to avoid a massive collision, because there was a huge lorry coming in the other direction. “Fucking idiot,” was all I could say fuming.
Cute: As we entered the room a cacophony of tiny “meow meow meow” met us. The cat mother was laying in the box, but the six little 5 weeks old kittens were running around, hustling and bustling around and trying to “win the fight” against their siblings. Six small kittens in various colours and size and level of fluffy. I could’ve died right then and there and died as the most happy person in the world. “Cause of death: Cuteness overload”.
Ashamed: “Larsen!” His voice boomed across the classroom as an explosion. “Can you solve the equation for me, perhaps, or should I rather ask a kinder gardener? They seems to have more sense and at least a possibility to get the answer correct.” He looked at me with his normal malicious grin and laughed out loud with a booming “HA!” I felt the heat rise in my body and my face reddening and I just wanted to sink through the floor and die. No matter how he enjoyed tormenting me, he was right: I had not a snowballs change in hell to solve the rather simple equation. I could seethe answer quite easily, but to actually write it out and explain it. Not a chance. I just took my bag, stood up and walked out from the classroom. I didn’t return for over a month out of pure shame.
Boredom: Nothing of interest on tv, nothing of interest on any of the streaming services, nothing of interest on social medias. Absolutely nothing happening out on the town. No interesting movies at the cinema. Not even any interesting books in the bookshelf – even Lord of the Rings looks back at me and it just doesn’t start anything in me. “What to do, what to do,” is repeated in my head. The best ways to handle boredom is 1) alcohol or drugs, 2) sex or 3) just go to sleep. But nothing of it seems interesting to night. Perhaps go for a drive? “Hmm… Nah. I’m low on gas and money,” I remember. With a sigh, I turn my focus back to the TV and starts to roll Netflix again…
Guilt: My stomach turning into both a glowing white ball of led and a knot. It feels as if a hurricane out in the ocean was running amok in it. I start to shake, sweat and hyperventilate. The agony I’m feeling from what I have done is crippling. “How could I do this?” I keep asking. The question haunts me and keeps me awake together with the memory of what I did. How I did it and the worst thing: how you reacted when you realised what I had done.
Dishonesty: Im asked a simple question. I know how to answer or what to say. I know the truth perfectly well, but what comes out of my mouth is nothing what I had believed I would say. It’s not rally very far from the truth, but it is still a lie. A lie so close to the truth that it runs like a walking path alongside a road. Almost the same, very similar, but also nothing at all as the road. It rolls of my tongue easily and convincing and no one raises a question about what I said. They just nod their heads and continue on with the conversation.
Manipulated: Refusing to listen. Refusing to see. Refusing to speak unless it is to make sure you are wrong about what you believe or say. Lying, hiding, omitting and denying. Saying how it is wrong, how it never happened, how it happened “this way” and not “that way”. Remove evidence and proof of behaviour and actions. “I didn’t do that.” I didn’t say that.” “You are mistaken and wrong.”
Relieved: Letting out a long sigh as I realise everything went as desired. I had worked through night and day for the last week to have everything ready for the recording. I couldn’t say how many points I had soldered, how many meters of wire and how many different wires I used to make it all work. All I knew was that if one thing didn’t work out and there was no sound, I would have to start almost from scratch and search through everything to figure out what was wring. The recording would be put off fro another two weeks, the studio would lose a lot of money and reputation, and I would be chewed out and humiliated as a failure in front of them all – band and producers and technicians – and I would be lucky if I would ever work in the business ever again. But all of the thoughts evaporated as soon as the first signal came through.
Helpless: A newborn deer. Lying in the grass. It is so tiny, still wet, trembling. It still haven’t opened up its eyes properly or taken its first real deep breath. The mother lick it and cleans it, vigilant of the surroundings. Though the fawn will be up and running happily in a couple of hours, it is so frail and helpless right now. If a predator is to approach, the best chance the fawn has is for the mother to run away, hoping the fawn will stay all still and unnoticed in the high grass.
Avoidance: Don’t want to, don’t want to, don’t want to, don’t want to! Need to get away. I feel the urge to hide, to flee, to disconnect and to not deal with things. Nausea, heart beating faster and faster. How to escape? How to get som… not safety. But still, how to get somewhere that feels safe? Where there’s nothing that needs to be done. Somewhere that doesn’t need speaking or handling. Or especially thinking.
Lust: Desire takes a hold of us. Takes us in and embraces us. Envelops us. Nothing but us exists. Us and the desire. The lust.
Innocence: The feeling of being cleared of all charges was an enormous relief. He could sense the future coming back to him, to finally be able to plan for a life again. How had he ever gotten mixed up in this. No, it wouldn’t been the end of the world had he been convicted, but still. It had felt as if his life was ending and now it wasn’t anymore. He had finally been believed by the jury. His story had been proven to line up with the facts and all was well and good. He had insisted on being innocent, and now, everyone knew it to be true as well.
Misunderstood: “So you’re saying that you were in the area at the time for the accident?” he asked me. “No,” I said. “I have been here before and had plans on going here again in a couple of days,” I continued. “Hmm, I see. So you’re saying that you could perhaps have been here at the time of the accident, then?” he continued. “No,” I said again. I was nowhere near the area, but I know it from previous visits” I said, trying to hide my exasperation. “Okay. That means you’re a person of interest for us and you will be asked to join us down at the station. You were possibly here at the time in question, as you say, and that is enough for you to become either a witness or potentially a suspect.”
Desperate: “NO!” I scream out. I tries to stop it. I need to stop it. To hinder it happening. The world starts going in slow motion. There is nothing I can do….
Cherished: To be held and hugged. Told that everything will be okay and that the pain will stop soon. Just exist in the moment with you and hold you back. I will try not to hug you too hard.
Naïve: “An axe can’t be that hard to use or that dangerous? Of course it has been used to murder, in warfare and caused countless incidents of maiming and injuries by careless people not knowing how to wield a potential lethal weapon. And no, I don’t have any experience chopping wood. But how hard is it? Set the log on top of the larger log. Raise axe over your head. Swing down and chop. Easy.”
Bewildered: As I hear what he says I’m completely bewildered. How can a person say these things. How can someone that supposed to be a boss – and I believed at one point a friend – scream like this? Im not angry or scared. I’m just really, really surprised, confused and just… “What”
Confronted: The mirror was held up to him so he could see himself. Unluckily it wasn’t a physical mirror. It was emotional. Shutting your eyes doesn’t work on these things, no matter how hard he have tried in the past. There is no escape from this. “Open your eyes,” he think to himself. “Get it over with, and then it can be done and gone,” he continues thinking. He hates confrontations with a passion. But he has done this to himself. The situation is his creation, his doing. He hasn’t done anything that anyone has forced him to do. This is all his own. He needs to seethes, take responsibility and deal with it before it consumes anymore of the people he dragged into his worthless, hollow life. There’s only one way out, and she is holding it up for him to see. To help. But how can help hurt so much?
