the aspect of treason
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-another moment gone-
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He promised you nothing, that's what you repeat in your head like a crazy person repeats mantra's out of pure insecurity. He never said he would be there when you needed him most, or that he'd hold your hand when life turned to its darkest times of blasphemies.
He never promised any of that.
You can't even begin to explain what you have been hiding so long inside of your head. You wish you could sum up the events that all lead up to this memorable traumatic story.
This is not one of those stories that others will be able to read in flat, simple, easy words and sentences or phrases. This, is a story of what can not be explained, or what can not be summed up with infinite sentences with forever in the picture.
Because even though everyone around you had experienced a simple image of what happened, only you yourself can have the privilege to say:
I was there.
But I wish I wasn't.
This is not one tale that will leave you swooning and pining over the characters—wishing it was you in their shoes—because this is the kind of story that leave you sniffling and drying tears that leaked unconsciously.
Consider yourself warned.
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I was never one to wish for a sappy love story to wrap itself around my reality and make me one of the in love characters—but when in life do you ever really get a say in what you honestly feel?
When I was seventeen, I fell harder than I can even comprehend, for him. It's hard to explain how everything played out and what words were shot in defense, or what control was lost, but all I can say is that if I could go back and change everything, I would never do it.
Even if I could wind back the ever-so present clock that always ticks with seconds passing by, I know for a given fact that I would not take it back.
It's a cool September evening, the time when the sun is just about to hide and the owls and bats are anxiously awaiting their entrance that rarely any one ever appreciates. The time when people begin to over-think their perfectly planned lives and stop and contemplate whether or not they're making a huge mistake or not.
The time nostalgia kicks in—even for the young.
When I stand and inhale the autumn breeze, closing my eyes and just think¸ I allow myself to desire what I can not change. I even sometimes relive my fondest of memories.
Memories to me had always been such a blur to me when I was young, I never remembered what wasn't drastic or traumatic in my life. I never remembered the small threads of miniscule details that occurred, or the strings that were invisibly attached. It all seemed moot point to memorize and a waste of memory.
But sometimes we don't have a choice in what we remember, or what we feel, or believe, or dream.
And when I stand in that autumn breeze, selfishly soaking up the remains of the sun's warmth, I allow my mind to take me back thirty-two years—when I was barely an adult—I would like to believe that in this memory that I am so attached to, is one secret I will always be able to flaunt around in secrecy.
:::-:::
In Westchester, New York, things shook up pretty easily. Chaos was around just about every bend, awaiting an innocent soul to run right into it unsuspected.
And when it hit: hell arose.
Because like all mother's would say:
You get what you give.
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Review.
-Another moment gone-