Love Overcast // (ManxMan)

=Chapter 39=

Jameson's view in the morning. *salivate*

[Owen]

*~*~*

Between the layers of greyed out lies and truths,

Are the fruits of colourless futility – regret.

His daily transcript lays across the piece of paper;

Black words on a white page.

The lies were never white,

You can see them,

They served a purpose.

*~*~*

Late January

I tried, I really did.

Every morning, I attempt to wake up with an open heart and an open mind. I want so badly to be able to complain and not feel guilty for being ungrateful.

The number of times a blade has come in contact with my skin should be enough incentive for me to do a double take, maybe reconsider my choices. I could have such a long life ahead of me, there will be hurdles to pass, mistakes to make and things to discovery.

Yet, all I can see is a flat line outstretching to the horizon. The sky, harsh, yet nonetheless blue. Just as I am living life. Bleak, yet nonetheless living.

I wonder why. All the time. The word seems to be omnipresent in my life. Why had my parent's become victims of a one-two gun fight? It may be insensitive - sadistic even - to ask why not someone else? Was it so hard to leave me with some semblance of hope in life, or is this natural selection at work?

Survival of the fittest. I am the failing species.

The bite of the cold air tames some of my blade-seeking tendencies, but it was like seeing everything in my line of sight made my blood boil. Not with anger, just... frustration.

When I first moved, I had half a heart to push restart on my adulthood. They say it is never too late to retry, never too late to pursue something of importance. I looked at those mantras, chanting to myself the possibility of having more than a flat line.

Now, as I look across the various objects strewn across the room in impressive disorder, I sigh. I will deal with it another day...

Another day is too far though. It always is.

Two vases sit in front of a photo of my family. What used to be my family. Now, nothing but a shattered watch glass, unable to see past myself. Just a pile of broken nothingness.

The vases are empty, as they naturally are. The fact that I keep animals alive on a daily basis is ironic on its own. I am an animal, how about I try to keep myself alive? It would make my life easier, for certain.

Petra nudges my limp palm with her wet nose, gaining my attention immediately. I kneel, quite embarrassed to be holding on to her in the state that I am. I know it is horribly wrong to be unable to provide for her the way many others would gladly do, she is a beautiful, gentle beast.

Still, I cling to her as she is the closest I could ever get to reliving love. With her gentle nudges and playful yips, I decidedly lie to myself.

Tomorrow will come. Where there the sun rises; will hang a moon.

You are alright.

Everything is alright.

~

He has too many qualities I wish not to associate with.

His shoulders are too wide. Moustache a little patchy.