The Sad Owl : Another Year, A New Year

She lightly whispered into my ear, “I promise… I’ll never leave. Just close your eyes, shhhhhhhhhh it’s okay I’m not going anywhere. You deserve a good night’s sleep”.

It makes me often regret ever sleeping at all. It’s the way I can still feel her breath on the lobe of my ear, her lips on the side of my cheek, her words on my heart as she said, “I love you”.

What I would give for another minute. Another second. Another split of that, in a moment of time that will never be anymore. It was the way that human warmth becomes cold, the way soft and supple becomes hard and inanimate. It is the way that tears of struggle and of joy, become without reason, goals retracted, person rescinded, love and hate twisted to the point they break, ultimately into nothing. 

It is the way you spend every waking hour with no more wonder. Each day passing where two-thirds become a sixth. Alone is without a with. And I am all out. Weeks into months and months into another year waiting to disappear. I am a sad owl in the night, waiting to take flight. 

© The Sad Owl

Silence is a Song

No music and no silhouettes, closing your eyes to find that peaceful sound of nothing at all. No images, no words to describe the surroundings or any figures, just nothing. Gentle breezes may whistle gently across the inner lobes of your ears and bounce off the prominence of your tragus to create a vacuum effect when it gets more violent, but this is still silence. The motion of the wind can also guide the direction of other things like the rain gently rapping at your open window. It gently taps as if to get your attention and although it is audible to you and even though your eyes are closed, you can still clearly see the image of those drops slowly descending to the window sill where it accumulates into its own small river flowing over the edge. This is in fact still silence.

As the grey clouds shift above and all the old aches and pains begin to throb, your body signalling the incoming storm, this too is silence. As you lie down to rest this weary body, wordless. The thoughts that cloud your mind as you try to resolve them with your inner voice speaking is too, silent. As you come to terms with the problems and obstacles that you face and decide that they are best left as tomorrow’s endeavor and your breathing steadies, you inevitably drift off into the dreams that spring forth from your subconscious. People you have met, things you have done and haven’t materialize before you. Words are clearly spoken and odd conversations take place that are either misconstrued memories, new and enlightening or pure nonsense. You could very well witness a duck that barks like a german shepard, or trees with no birds that still chirp and with all these sounds and images set before you, they are all in fact still silent as you breathe a steady rhythm with your eyes closed. Imperceptible to you is your soft snore that sometimes grows audibly loud, but not to you. The thunderstorm outside that has failed to wake you joins your labored breathing from the dream turned nightmare where a man in a bunny costume is chasing you through the woods as you yell for help, the reality that you cannot perceive around your still body is silence and to all others, your cries for help fall silent. It is quiet both inside and out.

The storm in all its majesty with loud commanding cracks that separate the sky. Torrential rains that fall relentless and seemingly never ending. They too shall pass. Like a song for all the things we hold inside that eventually come pouring out. It was as you lay there in tears wide awake, the muffled tones of your own cries let out as you tried to hold them back with a hand by your mouth. The mix of saliva and salty tasting nasal drip became your sound reasoning for finally letting out something akin to howling. There was never anybody to hear you but hearing yourself seemed far too horrifying. Was it not peaceful this silence? Was it not healing, demanding then frantic and finally disabling? Was it too much of nothing?

Finally you sleep, so serene in a dream, the dry pillars of salt push your lower eyelids up as you no longer have the weight of the world holding them down, the cloudiness and confusion wait to see the light as even dark clouds grow only to dissolve. For a moment in the dissonant solo that preceded, you could never tell that this was the encore for silence. A small clap emerged to congratulate you in your dreams and aspirations, for finally achieving internal peace and with tomorrow, words that would create their own song and harmony. The track that is silence can be one that is repeated and no one would ever know. Among all the chaos in this world it can be hard to hear sometimes.

© The Sad Owl

Fantasize

Often with a pair of headphones on, I will sit in this room listening to oft-melancholic music. Strange for someone that has been referred to as having accomplished so much and revered for both my so-called patience and calmness. I’m not sure whether my time spent gathering knowledge has been an endeavor well sought or if I have simply only created leeway in which others may possibly benefit from my insights, none of my time is ever saved in this process [by the way]. This is probably pretty confusing so far and I apologize insincerely for that. Most things I find beautiful are misconstrued and for that reason I ask that you wait a moment and allow the nature of this structure to simply settle.

Right. Here’s the thing, I don’t even know you but I can already say that I don’t love you anymore. Don’t be hurt though, when was it that I loved you anyways, right?

Wrong. I think you know when. From the very beginning I heard you take a breath, inhale and then exhale very quietly and I was wondering if you were at peace. With a breath that shallow could I ever love you? I wondered. Strangely, when I asked if you were at peace the breadth of your lungs seemed to expand with new depth and dimension, that’s when I saw all the room left. Such an immense capacity you have and that’s when I thought you could surely hold me there too. It was then, I’m sure of it. You were with me from the very beginning, almost startling.

So why don’t I love you anymore? That’s a good question. See it’s just a feeling. Like the hair at the very beginning of its follicle, the root of the problem. It’s that stiff-end that you brush through and even if you shave it all off it will still grow just a little, wax and shine it if you must but really, it will always come back just a little even if you tried all the aforementioned. Yes, I think that is a good way to analogize it, it will always be there. Words can be elongated into elegant sentences, humorous and catchy, you can grow them out but somehow never erase them completely and that is the very crux of this automaton relation that we are forming. I don’t want to always just be there. I wanted something… a little longer, you know? Maybe you don’t. Dreams are often fleeting and when I dreamt of your heart I could see your face. Now I’m the shallow one, a second so fulfilling is a long time after all.

I know, maybe you love me too. It’s hard to say what love is exactly. Sometimes I think it’s just when my heart beats a little faster or I start to feel a bit anxious. Sometimes I tap my foot rapidly but don’t tell anybody. In case you don’t drink coffee, that’s what it feels like when you have really good coffee. If you’re ever in town would you care for a cup? This time I’m being sincere. I don’t love you anymore so it’s just not like that and I think that makes for really good conversation. I already know that I am going to love speaking with you because words can be hurtful and bring tears to my eyes, so even if you choose to say those kinds of things, they’re just words. At least empty words, they don’t mean anything because I’m still lying and anything of an untrue nature simply doesn’t exist. That’s probably why I say maybe so often because it may be that. Dreams are just that aren’t they?

What did I mean by that? Well… that’s a not-so good kind of question about being fanciful and misleading. I’m going to be very serious now. You are — hard. Anatomically you are simply a wondrous design, to be alive and perhaps not so well, difficult at times and it’s really you that puts the meaning behind every word you say. When I dreamt of you, we were just talking casually but each second longer was additive to just how profound the same things you repeated became until I could really hear your voice. The expressions stopped being mismatched with the vocals proceeding and when I could see you, that was beautiful. The color in your face reflected the laughter, disapproval and suffocation of such words from me to you. I couldn’t help but smile and think, isn’t this wonderful? You and I, having this conversation about whether or not we loved each other and yet we don’t even know one another. So tell me, could it be that love exists or it just words and make-believe?

© The Sad Owl