Keep on counting

1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... 7... 8... 9... 10. 
Again.
1... 2... 3... 4... 5...

My survival depends on those steady, repetitive digits. Without them, I fail to keep a calm face. Without them, I fail to be indifferent.
It's hard to describe the present, because whatever what was written before was the past.
There's a lot of mindlessness, small intervals of thoughtless fun, and silent streams of tears that don't matter.

Whenever a chance comes, I dive into whatever comfort I can find in the arms of carefree friends, who really aren't my friends, who don't know what I'm feeling, who don't know what I need, who don't know me.


So I keep on counting until it's an automatic jerk reaction to any type of confrontation.

I'm just past blaming everyone or everything.

I just want to burn, and I want to count while in flames.

"Do you love him?"

Father is coming home this week.
Which prompted me to ask mother, "Do you love him?"

Guess

There was silence on the other end with intervals of silent muttering.
"I think so," she finally answered.

An interval of silence lapsed.
She asked, "Are you asking because of the hardships we have between us?"

I wanted to laugh out loud, not because of the obvious problems they had, but because she had considered the unbelievable pain Father put her through as mere 'hardships.'

"No. The last time I asked, you said 'No.'"
She stared at me with guarded eyes that accused me of stabbing her where it hurt.

"I guess you changed your mind," I stabbed again.
"I guess I did," she said.

Experiences

Heard what I heard. Can't forget it. Saw what I saw. Can't go back. Know what I know. Can't deny.

Done what I did. Can't erase it. Am what I am. More than enough. Got what I've got. Nothing compares.

Said what I said with no looking back, have what I have and giving it up, did what I did with no guarantees.

Something on my road cut my soul and changed my world.

20 - Voices in My Head

When Father asked me what I thought about him divorcing Mom, I wanted to smack him. I was sitting in the backseat of his car, so I couldn't reach his face. Wasn't he supposed to try and keep the family together? Betrayal at its finest, ladies and gentlemen.

But to be honest, I wanted him gone. It's true that hating someone is a lot easier when you can't see them. Yet, the kids needed their "Daddy," the guy who was a role model who was on one side fluffy like a teddy-bear and on the other, strong as a rock. So I said, No. No divorce. The kids need you. He smirked, as if he had already known my answer.
I proceeded to get out of the car and hightail home, trying my very best to forget his reply: That's what I thought, too. I couldn't have said it better myself.

To myself, I thought, You're such a self-sacrificing hypocrite. I couldn't have agreed more with the voice in my head.

Voices

Lies

 Morning 

My favorite pastime lately, a pastime that is almost always frowned upon, is to sit down on a bench or small wall, and watch people live their lives. But like the rebel I am, I foolishly chose to ignore and adamantly observe.

Some cry, some laugh, and others charge through like there is no tomorrow.
There are hippies selling overpriced organic products, hookers enticing all ages of all sexes, and business men and women talking and or texting on their smartphones.
These are the normal views.

Then I saw 2 teenagers, walking along. The boy had black hair that was dreadfully in need of a haircut, and the girl seemed pure. Yet strangely, they were both tainted by... something. Something was not right with those two.
They seemed like normal teens -- not yet adults, but not yet kids, either.
In other words, lost. Confused. And on top of all that, in pain.

Seen at a far distance, I saw them buying a baseball bat and baseball, and then moved to the park where the boy was teaching the girl how to play.
They laughed, as if they could never laugh tomorrow.
Then they left the park, where the boy had given his newly bought baseball bat and baseball to some elementary school kids.

Why did you give it to them? We could have come back and played with it again. said the girl.
Shrugging, the boy said, I thought they looked like they wanted it. 

Lies. 

He felt that he wouldn't be able to relax and fun like this again, a feeling that shouldn't be felt, a feeling that was prevented for years. He would be sorry if he gave the girl a memory that would never come true. 

He then held her hand, kissed it, kissed her lips, and said, We'll come again. Don't worry about it.

It probably would have been better if they never met in the first place.

 Sunset