A face without a heart

A face without a heart. Guilty. But all I want is to be happy. No. Not even that. But for a brief moment, I want to know what it feels like. Living. Love. Doing stupid things and then regretting for each and every one. Being impulsive. Acting recklessly. I am impatient. Take it easy they say. Patience. The hell with it. What if it’s not worth it? What if, after all the waiting, there is nothing out there. But there’s got to be. Pain? I could deal with it. Disappointment? Might be. Better than feeling like this though which is pretty much nothing. And why the heck do I crave so much for life in its most basic form? Isn’t that what everybody wants? Am too common. A fool. Yeah, that’s what I am. But then again, perhaps life, for me, in its most basic form is not the same as others see it. It’s a matter of perspective I like to say. Yeah. Just a matter of perspective. The hell with it!

Shimmer down. Haha, look at me, using all these slangs and colloquialisms…I who not long ago was incapable to deviate from the standard forms of English. God. I have changed so much. And I hate myself for that but can’t bring myself to stop loving it either. The change. When did that happen? And why? Why have I set myself apart from the person who cares for me the most in this shitty mud hole of a world? No. Let me rephrase that. The only person who cares. At all. The waiting is killing me. It’s the waiting that does that. Transforms me into this beast of a person. But that’s the very thing. I am not careless. Because I do care . Every time I cause my mum pain, I feel awful. I am weak. Yeah, that’s what it is. Keep telling myself I am strong, independent and incorruptible. Not. I wish I was braver, prettier and stronger. I wish I could tell my mum how I love her and how I hate her vision of the world. How I hate her hate of the people. I hate her disappointment in life, her distrust in people. I hate her pessimism, the very one she is passing on to me. And for that reason I keep myself aloof from her. Because it is not my mum, the woman that cared for me, the woman loving me to the point of self sacrifice that I am running from. I stay aloof from the distrustful, suspicious, assuming monster, the product of an unaccomplished life of uninterrupted disappointments, broken dreams, and loneliness.

I run from all that. Only that. But mother does not understand. I don’t want her anymore she says. Thought I got a message from D. Not yet. It’s the waiting again. I can’t wait damn it!! I am19 for fuck’s sake. Another change. When did I start swearing? And does it make me feel better? No. I just like it. I got drunk when I found out I was in love and that my feelings were mine alone. That hurt like hell. And now, it still does because I crave for so much love. I crave for it for the very reason that I have so much to give. I think. But it’s not the love that my mother expects from me. I’m fed up with that one. It’s smothering me. The worst thing is it didn’t use to. I remember how I would wish for nothing else in the world than to spend my afternoons with mum, snug in bed, eating cherries in the summer and chocolate in the winter. Apple pie on Sunday mornings while watching Granny, Sylvester and Tweety solve one of their mysteries. But I finished that chapter long ago. My mum is the slow reader I suppose, not quite catching up with me. You see, as I read chapter after chapter, she is still there, not quite moving or wanting to read on. What kills me the most is the fact that she keeps making me read the lines, over and over again, hoping that I will be as enraptured as she is by that scene. I am sorry mother. I love you but I am not the same 9-10 yr old whose whole world you once were. Please forgive me. But you won’t. I can see that in your eyes. You will always forgive my actions and my deeds. But not my words. Not the way I push you aside. You will hurt me with staggering words to the point of cruelty. Because there is nothing left for you apart from me. A social freak. Yeah. That’s what you have become. I stay aloof because it’s catching. It’s like a disease crippling my state of mind, my way of being and I bloody hate that. Will get a car soon. A chance to escape even for a few hours. You have no idea. Endless possibilities. This sounds horrible. I am evil, am I not? or maybe just selfish, but that is me and that I cannot chance, unless I am allowed to. Stop smothering me and I will come to you. But don’t cling to me because you have lost me then.