ceruleanfables

[ceruleanfables]

Ode to the Candle in the Window

I wish to understand the candle Elusive, glowing on the mantle Small and silent, measured and peaceful The softest form of light, blissful

It flickers in the lightest breeze Yet always leaves my mind at ease Why? Precious and easily lost I see its light always glossed

And finally there it is, bam, bingo A tiny light shining through a window The final stretch of my unending roam At long last, I am finally home

Where my family waits patiently Do I go inside? Just wait and see? And as I reach out for that handle My eyes are drawn to that burning candle

Its light might flicker and change form Yet always calling, safe and warm In blackest night or darkest day That candle’s light still seems to say This is where I am best known So I will always return home

[ceruleanfables]

My Dad Almost Died

I finished the first draft of my book Work was smooth sailing I got a dog And my dad almost died

My boss got diagnosed with cancer My coworker broke his leg And my dad almost died

My mom’s friend had a heart attack Then another of her friends did too And my dad almost died

Everyone is trying to be fine I’m trying to be fine And my dad almost died

It doesn’t matter that work is too hard now I can handle it It doesn’t matter that being home is too hard now I can handle it My friends don’t seem to get it, no one seems to get it I can handle it

My dad almost died Why is no one reacting to this? Why am I the only one reacting to this? Can’t you see it still? He slipped right there in front of us Grabbed the rail, screamed in pain Right there in front of me If I hadn’t moved fast enough Why is no one reacting to this? WHY AM I THE ONLY ONE REACTING TO THIS?

I can’t do it, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t One man alone  Can’t hold the weight of the sky My dad tried to do it But then he almost died

[ceruleanfables]

I Don't Remember My Childhood

I don’t remember the cold air blasting my face as I raced friends across open fields.

I don’t remember the imagined worlds of my backyard pulled from books, on T.V., and in dreams.

I don’t remember the hockey sticks and wooden spoons and tree branches turned into swords.

I don’t remember the joy of staying inside when it rained and playing board games with my brother and sisters.

I don’t remember the fast-paced, sweat-filled matches of capture the flag on the baseball field.

I don’t remember getting hit by a shoe in second grade, a shoe thrown by my teacher for not including enough detail in my Brief Constructed Responses.

I don’t remember the laughing while playing hide and seek at Patrick’s house, trapped in a closet with the unending joyful suspense of waiting to be found.

I don’t remember chasing Julie around the playground or the light kiss on the cheek she gave me when I finally caught up to her.

I don’t remember memorizing the periodic table off the back of a science textbook cover in fourth grade.

I don’t remember holding the first book I ever bought with my own money, a soft plastic cover with raised bumpy letters that denoted the title: The Ruins of Gorlan.

I don’t remember my first dog, Fred, with his shiny golden coat catching sharp rays of sunlight through the windowpane as he sat watching the street outside.

I don’t remember my first campout with the Cub Scouts and having to set up my tent in the rain despite the sun still being out.

I don’t remember my Legos, the hours spent lying stomach-first on the floor, speaking out loud in different voices as I moved tiny figures across the beige carpet.

I don’t remember the time before responsibility.

I don’t remember the years before I turned eleven.

Because I remember my mother, my wonderful, hardworking, always loving mother having her first seizure.

Because I remember the doctors testing her, poking her, asking her all manner of questions that had no answers.

Because I remember the nights trying to make dinner when mom no longer could.

Because I remember walking through the front door to find my mother on the kitchen floor, day after day, twitching and shaking, arms curled in cruel angles, face scrunched up and eyes closed tight.

Because I remember the pills in their tiny orange bottles, pills given by doctors flummoxed by the strange seizures that had no scientific explanation.

Because I remember my suppression, tamping down my own needs and wants and desires and dreams; the required suppression of me so I might better care for her.

Because I remember my father took on a second job to cover rising healthcare costs and government shutdowns. 

Because I remember awkwardly turning down nights out; movies unwatched, games unplayed, parties unthrown and always with a weak excuse as to why I couldn’t go.

Because I remember the constant juggling of responsibilities between my siblings and I as our lives got more complicated with who would clean the house, who would play with Fred, who would cook dinner, and who would sit on the floor with mom so she had some company and comfort.

Because I remember school started to get harder, but no one could know because too much else was going on that was more important than me.

Because I remember the unconscious resentment towards my mother and her illness that started to build and pile up next to my heart with nowhere to go because no one had time to care.

Because I remember the guilt that accompanied the resentment; guilt from my natural ability to live every day without ever ending up stuck on the floor with my face smashed into the beige carpet my Legos used to live on.

Because I remember when Fred died from seizures of his own, blood low down on the walls from where he blindly slammed his head as he seized around the house.

Because I remember the tiny voice in my head that started to whisper, “Mom could die like that, blind, alone, and not in control.”

Because I remember the day her seizures just suddenly, inexplicably stopped and everything was expected to go on as it had long before even though I knew it was too late

Because I can’t remember my childhood.

[ceruleanfables]

His Big Shoes

His big shoes rest beneath the bench in the foyer.

They are only there for a little while each night.

Sometimes, he wears different shoes.

A different pair depending on which job he goes to.

Sometimes, he wears more than one pair in a day.

Most times, he wears more than one pair in a day.

His shoes are notable for their absence.

When they are gone, I feel it.

I can feel the empty space they leave behind.

But his shoes are also notable for their presence.

When they are here, I am happy.

He never fails to make me happy, no matter how many shoes he wears that day.

Despite the constant wear and tear, his big shoes remain solid.

They remain intact.

They never weaken.

They never seem to relax either, always at the ready for the next job.

So while I sit here on this bench,

and look down at his big shoes,

I wonder if they might, maybe, just a little, be too big for me.

I try them on.

They do not fit.

As I grow, I keep trying them on.

Each time is the same.

They do not fit.

They are simply too big.

Or maybe my feet are too small.

Why are his shoes so big?

And who will wear them after he is gone?

[ceruleanfables]

Another Waste of Time

I've spent a day doing nothing

Yet I've wasted my time

I've spent a day completing chores

Yet I've wasted my time

I've spent a day at work getting paid

Yet I've wasted my time

I've spent a day with my friends

Yet I've wasted my time

I've spent a day with my lover

Yet I've wasted my time

I've spent a day with a doctor

Yet I've wasted my time

I've spent a day at the gym

Yet I've wasted my time

I've spent a day at the bar

At the park

At the museum

At the beach

At school

At home

In the woods

In the kitchen

In the pool

On a mountain

On a boat

On a plane

Writing

Reading

Playing music

Playing games

Walking 

Running

Shouting

Screaming

Living

Breathing

Nothing ever feels different

Everything I do is wasting my time

And I have precious little left

So what am I to do

That won't be wasting my time?

[ceruleanfables]

Unsent Letter #1

Dear , I would understand if even after all of these years I'm the last person you want to talk to which is why I won't be mailing you this letter. But I'm writing it because there are things I want you to know. Things I need to say.

I don't have any photos of you. I was looking through my phone and I have no photos of you in there. I don't have photos of any of the girls I've dated, but I'm most upset about the lack of you. It's funny because I can still see you so clearly, so why am I upset that I have no pictures? Sometimes it's like you're standing right in front of me, especially in my dreams.

That's what this letter is about. I can't seem to move on. There's too much guilt wrapped up around you, too much regret. I hope that you have been able to move on, that you've found some happiness out there beyond me. I haven't. To be honest, things have only gotten worse. I want you to know that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for breaking up with you, both the act and how I did it. I never even explained why. I just shut you out, locked myself down, and ran away. I wanted to hide from the pain I was suffering because I didn't understand it. I still don't, not fully, but I know enough now to tell you what happened that day.

When I was with you at your house, you curled up on the couch and me kneeling in front of you, something shifted or snapped inside me. You were telling me about your struggles, about how you thought you might have depression and how you weren't sure what your parents' reaction would be to asking about therapy. And I remember just blankly staring at you. I made some paltry remarks about how your parents love you so just ask and I don't remember what you said after that. I can't accurately place what I did to get out of your house except that it was abrupt and rude because I was running away. On the way home, things started to spiral. My heart was racing, I couldn't focus, and I was driving erratically. My brain was running at lightspeed trying to think through every possible scenario for everything ever and they were all bad. By the time I got home, I was in tears, breathing heavy and coughing, panicked beyond reason. My father asked me what was wrong and I screamed at him. I couldn't breathe. I could barely stand and my hands were shaking. I didn't know what was happening to me or why. My father asked me where I had been and I told him your house. He asked if you had done something and my brain, so cluttered, so scattered, so broken and craving something stable, latched onto the idea that you were to blame. And that's when I called you and the end of us began.

After that, I was so drained that shutting down was easier than trying to process and deal with everything. My whole world turned grey. But it wasn't your fault. I need you to know that it wasn't your fault. It was the girl who came before you.

Her name was and we dated for a little over a month about a year before I met you. She was the first to many things with me, one of which was sex though I wish it had been you. I don't know why that's important, but it is. She was also a liar, manipulative, and broken. She would tell me things, secrets that only I could know despite how terrible they were. I would tell her to seek help, professional help, someone who could help her understand these terrible things, but she would scoff at the idea. She told me that I was the only one who could save her. I wanted to be the hero, I've always wanted to be the hero. I did the best I could, but it was never enough. She always wanted more. She wanted so much so fast and at first, I was eager to help her but I didn't realize I was drowning. There was no one else for me to lean on because I couldn't betray her trust. I never shared her secrets, her terrible things, her dark abyss with anyone. Even now, writing this letter, I'm not sharing them. Without any help, I was turning into someone I didn't recognize. My emotions got so jumbled and confused and everything seemed off. I couldn't sleep well, I couldn't concentrate. I felt irritable and angry and frustrated and had no idea why. I wasn't me anymore, I was just an extension of her and what she wanted from me. She put a crack into who I thought I was, the kind of man I thought I was. It took me a while to figure out that I wasn't saving her, she was pulling me in after her. So I left. I ran away and broke up with her. I let her tell my friends a one-sided version of the story. I let her make me the bad guy because I believed she had no one at all except for them and I had other people I could look to. Eventually, my friends came back once they realized she was lost, but it was still lonely.

She put a fracture into the idea I had of myself, into the vision I had of the person I was and wanted to be. She proved to me how easily I could be manipulated, for someone to change me into what they wanted. It's an insecurity I still carry with me everywhere I go.

And then there was you.

All you did was tell me a secret that you weren't quite ready to share with anyone else. A secret that couldn't possibly have remained a secret for long because that's not who you were. But in that moment, everything came crashing back. Everything I had been through with , all of the things she said and did, all of the things I felt and suffered. Everything, suddenly, all at once. It wasn't your fault. It was ...and it was mine.

Your secret was a spike and hammer to the crack she left in me, splitting me apart like a log. Running away from you was me turning my back on everything I thought I knew about myself. You see, I've always pictured myself hiking up a mountain and at the top of the mountain would be the knowledge that I was a good person. Sometimes it was really hard and I'd stop, or I would need to take a longer route, or I'd even stumble and fall. But I was always moving forward, always hiking up. I was always trying to reach the top. But that day, I turned around and sprinted back to the bottom because hurting you was easier than feeling my own pain.

I broke your heart, refused to tell you why, and shut you out completely from my life because I was too scared, too hurt, and too broken to realize that you weren't even remotely the problem. You were part of the answer. You were reaching out to me, offering me a chance to see the better side of my failures with . You were giving me a deeper, more connected kind of love than anything I had ever experienced before, but I shunned your waiting hand. You were the first girl I said "I love you" to. I meant it. Please believe that I meant it. I had to tear that love from my chest to break your heart. To love you fully meant breaking through the scars around my heart and that proved too painful for me. At the first sign of pain, I ran away.

I failed you and I'm sorry. It is the worst thing I have ever done to another person.

I am so sorry for the pain that I caused you. I hope with everything I am that you have found a way to heal and are happy now. You deserve to be happy.

I'm not, not yet. I have only just now, over four years later, realized what happened in the first place. Right now, I am broken and wounded and unable to forgive myself for the pain I've caused you and others. But I hope that maybe, just maybe, writing this letter will bring some measure of peace with all of this. For a long time, I hoped that you hated me because I hated myself. I wanted you to be as angry with me as I am. But now, I hope that I'm not even a blip on your radar. I hope that you are happier than you ever were with me and that life has treated you right. So I don't want to send you this letter. I want you to have closure, but I don't want to ruin the life you may have found beyond me. I hope you can understand what I've written here. I hope that forgiveness comes easier for you than it does for me.

I love you.

Your Ridiculous Man,

[ceruleanfables]

Everything I do, every choice I make, everything I write, every reaction I have is based in fear. Fear of failure. Fear of perception. Fear of guilt. Fear of pain. Fear of death. Fear guides me like nothing else. Why do I let it? Why can't I let it go? Why can't I be brave? Why? Does everyone feel this way? Is it only me? Doesn't seem likely. I get that fear is a survival trait. It is ingrained into every living thing to keep them safe and alive. But...why must it be so invasive, so infectious? Why must it expand beyond simple survival to encompass all aspects of life? Why am I, why are we, so afraid of living?

[ceruleanfables]

If you commit time to do things you enjoy, you are taking time away from doing things you enjoy. Why is it so hard to do things you enjoy? I enjoy writing. I enjoy worldbuilding. I enjoy figuring out characters, getting them to do stuff, and figuring out how the stuff plays out. I enjoy finding the right words to express my meaning. I enjoy doing it all. But because I enjoy it, I feel bad when I want to watch a movie or hang out with friends or play a video game. I'm not doing the thing I enjoy because I want to do the thing I enjoy. And it goes vice versa. And with other combinations. And back and forth. Side to side. Up and down. Any way that I look at it, there I am: sitting silently staring at my home screen with a desk full of books and a world full of options and I do nothing for hours and feel like the day is wasted once more. And then, on Monday, I have to go to work.

[ceruleanfables]

Hope

Perhaps something the world needs is a new form of Hope, a quieter version of Hope. We shouldn't, as some have done, give up Hope. We shouldn't, I think, embrace Hope so completely that we are blinded to all else. Perhaps what the world needs is less extreme, less one side or another. Perhaps we need to keep Hope at arm's length. Keep it just far enough away that we know it's there, where its light can guide us onward through the darkness, but it isn't so close as to consume us. The only thing Pandora left in her box was Hope because it was a precious gift meant to be kept slightly at bay. Perhaps that's what the world needs more of right now. Hope at arm's length.

[ceruleanfables]

And on the day I forget to remember you, just know that it will be the worst day of my life not because a family member died or I got into a terrible accident or the stars fell from the heavens and tore our world apart in a fiery whirlwind of chaos and death. No, it will be the worst day of my life because I will simply be too busy to remind myself to remember you. That is the day when what we were is truly dead. Until then, I will be haunted by the reality that when the worst day of my lie occurs, I won't even notice.

[ceruleanfables]

Nobody is coming

Nobody is coming to save us Nobody is coming down from the sky Nobody is coming in bright colors Nobody is coming to fight the monsters Nobody is coming to stop evil Nobody is coming So Maybe We'll just have to do it Ourselves

[ceruleanfables]

Atlas

Each day I wake up And my world is a little heavier My shoulders ache My knees crack My back nearly buckles And for a moment I fear That today is the day I fall But I choose to stand up anyway My world may be a bit heavier And growing day by day But it's big and bright and beautiful And I hope it never goes away

[ceruleanfables]

A fan is not enough

A fan is not enough to keep me from missing you I don't hear your breathing and I don't know what to do I can't fall asleep alone in my room It's too dark and empty it feels like a tomb I can't hear his footsteps coming down the stairs So I can't fall asleep because I know he isn't there I have no more protection from monsters in the night And I can't find the courage to turn off all the lights Fear is the weapon that leaves me lying awake But heartache is the wielder who thinks my sleep is his to take I miss my brother My father My sisters and my mother And before I moved away, I wish I had known That this is what it feels like when you miss home

[ceruleanfables]

I know that I am lost But I am not afraid The only fear I have Is that I'll never find my way Lost in this dark ocean Where the water's calm and still I float about in peace Yet, I never feel fulfilled The path to land Is blocked by gates of fire My memories too painful For me to face the pyre I know that I am lost But I am not afraid The only fear I have Is that I'll never find my way

[ceruleanfables]

The world used to be so big. The day used to be so long. The sun used to be so bright. Every day was a new adventure. Nothing but unlimited curiosity, excitement, and potential. Every moment stretched out into forever. Every morning arrived brimming with possibility. Always so excited to wake up the next day. Wanting to see what would happen next. Where did it all go wrong? No idea what changed. Excitement replaced by dull dread. Maybe the joy died in the answer. To know what happens next takes the excitement out of the discovery.