[~*Lonely Wanderer*~]: 264.Her Tenth Diary

Her Tenth Diary

I remember it now, some what like little photos being flashed in front of my mind. The pain is immense beyond what your mind could think up. It hurts to even think about it now. That’s why “they” did that to me, to make me forget everything. So the pain wouldn’t be so hard on my human body. But even through all of the drugs and all of the treatments, nothing could ever completely cease the existence of my pain. That’s why I was deemed a failure. Even through all of the relapses I had, all the visions when standing alone, I was still useless. Even when I was told to see the needles and I was claimed to see them and beyond that feel them pierce my flesh, I was still said to be worthless to them any longer.

Can’t you see?
How deep is the pain?
That grows inside of me

I was in love. He was my entire world. He was the reason I slept at nights, and the reason I woke in the morning; to see into another day. If he wasn’t there for me, I wouldn’t be here, simple as that. But somehow, I’m still here. Even when he isn’t, I’m still here. I’ll still exist, just like the years on my face. As I grow older, I become wiser. As I age, the wrinkles become pronounced. I’ll still be here, like the tears on his face. I’ll be born into this world as quickly as I will fade away.

Can’t you see?
How I long to fall down your face
So delicately
That I would come to this world from your eyes
And leave it the same way through your lips

Rain, that’s me alright. Some people started to call me the goddess of the rain for my obsession with it. When I wasn’t in the “treatment room” or the “lab” then I was in my little white room looking out my window. When people would ask me what it was doing outside I would tell them it was raining, because it was always raining for me in my world. The sun never shined, and the clouds were never white. I always thought that maybe if I tried hard enough and sat in my chair next to the window long enough, I could become Rain. I thought if I did it for so long and I thought about it for so long, I could escape this realm of chaos and be free to fall from the heavens to the Earth.

Can’t you see?
How when I ponder my thoughts through the window
And into the rain
That I can be set free again

So I am a failed project. I’m back home and they’re talking about destroying me for the information that I contain. I act as if I’m still in my white room. Day after day I sit there in a chair next to my window and watch the rain in my world fall. They say from the damage from seeing someone can cause me to say things at random times. Is this what being traumatized is? They say that they can’t “risk” me from saying something about my “time” being there. I’m not worth living to them and I’m more worthless dead than being alive. Facts are, whether dead or alive, it doesn’t matter, so long I don’t tell anyone their secrets. I’ve been there for a long time and it seems to me that I am normal, like before I went. Everyone else seems to disagree with me; they say I’m “different” even when I secretly long to be me. I don’t remember what I was before, so how can I remember what I want to be?

Can’t you see?
How I long to be
What I once was

He was everything. When I came back home, on my dresser laid a single red rose with a card. It said for me to meet him at his apartment. I wasn’t allowed to leave immediately because I was under house watch to make sure that I wouldn’t do anything rash from being finally released. So for three days I sat in a chair, pressing my head to my window, watching the rain in my world fall down. Finally, I was able to leave. I walked, one foot slowly placed in front of the other, to his apartment, which was some three miles away. I refused car travel and I refused a time to tell them when I would be back, for even I didn’t know the answer to that, so I walked the distance, and it was nothing compared to what I had dealt with when I was “there”. I finally made it and I rang the annoying buzzer. You called it the “errrr” noise, because that’s what it must have sounded like to you. I heard you ask who it was and I stayed silent. I heard you walk to your window and throw open the blinds. I heard your feet running to carry you down to the door. I heard you open it. But I didn’t hear you as you cried my real name and held me close. The only thing I heard was your heart beating with mine; and the only thing I felt was the pouring of salty water onto me, kind of like rain.

A thousand tears falling from your heavenly grace
Something that I call your sweet face

Why? Isn’t it always the question that cannot be answered? No matter how hard you try, in the end, there is no answer to your question? Is there; or is it because sometimes we fear of answering. We fear of seeking the truth that we hide deep down inside of us. We hide it so we don’t have to hurt others when we can just say that we simply don’t know, but we do know, we just can’t say so. So when they ask me why I sit at my window all day, I want to say I don’t know, but I do. I like to watch my rain fall down in my world, where everything is black and white so the colors don’t hurt my eyes, so I don’t have to listen to everything I don’t want to hear, so I can be alone. So through all of this, somehow, I feel caged, like a burden of metal has encased my body, sheltered it from the world, and I can never be set free. So therefore, I become used to denying something I want: freedom.

Can’t you see?
Being trapped inside isn’t me
I beg of you
Set me free

The moment of truth is everything but that. I lied about loving him, I lied about sleeping over night at his house, and I lied about not doing anything with him. Still, everything I just said wasn’t true. So I’m merely hiding the truth to deny the fact that I’m scared. I loved him with whatever amount of heart that I had, and I trusted him for my first time. Trust; most would say it’s a powerful word, and it’s something that you have to gain or earn from someone else. I had his trust and he had mine. Even when I was leaving and he told me never to come back, I loved him until I got home and cried into my Rain.

With the sweet ecstasy
That shalt be delivered only from hell

Praying is a form of the holy or the religious right? Most would say the praying for someone in the time of needing guidance or help from the Lord above that they worshiped, it would then give them the miracle that they needed. No one must have prayed for me then, and that’s fine. The only time I thought that someone was thinking of me, was when I received a bouquet of black roses. Black roses symbolizing someone’s death or the birth of a babe, but for me it couldn’t have been a happy moment. Someone wanted my death, someone had prayed for me to die, and that’s exactly what I wanted.

To the grounds of earth
In prayers that I can die

As he held me close and dear to his heart and soul I could think of no other moment that could surpass this. It was his moment of ecstasy that love could only say was nothing less of romantic. As he held me to him, my beating heart next to his, he told me the three words every one loves to hear. So words lead to sentences, sentences lead to phrases, phrases lead to screams, and screams lead to the three words again; a never ending cycle, a perfect union every time. I loved him just by looking into his eyes I could tell that he loved me too.

With sweet passion for me
Still lingering in your eyes

Black ravens now fly in my raining heavens and the only colors are blue hues. I will never escape my world and I never wish to. If there was one place I could stay all of my life, it would be in the chair in my room, which is next to my window. If there was one place I want to be left when I die it’s there. That spot connects me to my realm of pleasure, and for it to cease existing; I would also cease to exist as who I am. I am Rain, daughter of the mother moon and father sun, and I will die with a thousands tears falling from my world, burying me in my soil that grows my black and white colored grass. Keeping me forever locked in my realm of pleasure, a place that I prefer to the world my sham of a body lives in. If you seek embarrassment in these words I write or stories to tell intruder, then you are sadly mistaken. I will not tell you anything too deep or too light from the truth. I am rain, and this is who I am.

Can’t you see?
I’m no longer the person I used to be