Forgotten Love

Anne,

How do I start this letter? I do not know. For it's the first letter I have ever written.

I hold no hope on you reading this letter, for the things I have put you through makes me cringe as I recall them time after time.

The only way of starting this letter would be saying the only thing that matters, I love you.

Before we saw each other for the first time, my life was empty, without meaning. And now, without you, I am nothing again. When you left through the door of that house, my heart shattered into a million pieces. I am ashamed to admit that empty alcoholic bottles litter my house completely, and have been littering it since you slammed that door in my face.

I have not gathered  enough courage to call you back after that disastrous call that took place the afternoon after you flew out of my life and should I try to plead forgiveness, dirt is thrown back to my very face, and fear now overpowers my every move.

I still  recall every second I have spent with you, though I know there are not many memories in your life associated with me. You've been in my life for a few years now, and it's not something I would willingly give up. 

Though I admit to making a mistake, I'm only human, and such mistakes, though not commonly, do occur, and mine was a minuscule one. I know if you're reading this, you're shaking your head no, it's a habit you have, to show your emotions before you even say them. And I know your eyes are clouded over, sad and tired, for you have never been able to hold in your tears for more than a minute. And I know you have been crying, we always seem to end up this way, with you crying and slamming the door, while I roll around in shame for yet another mistake I have committed.

You don't agree with the contents of this letter, you just think with rage and anger, overwhelmed by my misdoings. And I know. I know they're not only a few, but many and many, continuous over time.

I do not know what to say to you, I only know that sorry is not enough to make up for all the sins I have committed, yet what else to do is beyond me. I came to you as a broken man and with your love I became sane again. I tried to be the best man I could ever dream of being, only for you, but I wan't strong enough, I wasn't able to become the man you wanted me to be. I tried really hard to change for you but you only kept uncovering the nasty side of me until you grew tired and left, like all who have come to know me. I don't blame you, I never have. I only blame myself. For being unworthy of you and not being able to give you what you deserve. You are beautiful and full of life, so unlike any other I have ever seen. You stand up for yourself and you stood up for me, when no one else would. You found me in a somewhat desperate situation and held on to me, while all I did was destroy you.

And that's the tragic truth, it was you who found me, though it should have been the other way around. I should have found you. And I started to, I really did, but you've come to know me, you now I'm not consistent with anything, though I tried with you, and lasted longer than I expected, even if there were obstacles in the way.

I love you with all my rotten heart, more than seeds love the wind, more than a garden loves its flowers. I love you so much my stomach works up a state of agitation when I see you or when I hear your name. Please love me back, even if it's only a small portion of my own love.

My dear Anne, forgive me, forgive this worthless father of yours. Forgive an old man begging for a second chance with his daughter, Forgive me for leaving you as a child, for being a drunken mess in your presence, for never being your father properly.

I wrote you this letter. I did not know how to start, let alone how it was going to come out. But I did it, I did it for you. I did it for my little girl who's grown to be a beautiful woman. For no one else would I write a letter, for no one else would I express my love so deeply like I would for you.

With a bleeding heart,

Your father.

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I'm sure quite a lot of you have already begun 2015, so happy new year! I've still have a few hours to go, but I'm already excited for the clock to strike midnight. I wish all of you a perfect year, or as perfect as you can make it, and a very merry Christmas.

Thank you to anyone and everyone who has been reading my blog over the last year, and even more to those who have been with me longer. I started writing for myself, to express myself and let go of emotions. I still do that now, but you are a big part of what I write. I now write for you too.

Thank you to those who have left comments, it's something I really love doing, reading your opinions and thoughts. And to the silent readers out there too, for you are also special to me. Thank you to those who have spread my blog, even if it was only mentioning it to a friend. And I give a huge thank you to all of my own friends who have been supporting my blog and have had patience with my nagging them to read it.

I love you all. Comment, share, read and enjoy. May 2015 be awesome to everyone.

  Esther Alós © All rights reserved 

Bring me my leaving

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M0kW4yIlmbY

A single note is heard throughout the whole meadow. So poised and refined, yet long and lasting, wanting to take on the real effects it single-handedly creates. Carrying on, desiring to release its ever lasting poison to the world.

I strain to hear it, seeing as it's unrealistically high-pitched. The edge it gives off puts any living being to shame. My thoughts drift to the times where playing the harp or flute were counted as normal, when my own instrument was between my two hands, crafted after years of hard work and determination.

Push away, get away. Don't allow it to get inside your head. Clear all thoughts, run away. Deadly poison. Deadly poison. Deadly poison. All of them, each and every one. Run away, forget, be save.

Teardrops glisten in the corners of my eyes. The sound is already poisoning me, it lures me. Addicted. Give it to me, let me hear more. I'm desperate, I'm paralyzed. I'm aching for it yet, I want it destroyed.

It's an Aaliyah, a beautiful form of divinity, created to last throughout helpless periods on to an ongoing journey, never to be stopped. A rhythm made to prolong agony, made to make you feel the vibrations it gives off until you surrender. A horrendous, deadly beast giving off shades of marvelous and lustrous rays. A weapon so captivating it brings you to your knees, makes you succumb to its power.

There were many placed strategically by the government, but they were thought to have disappeared with time. They were curiously shaped like the mythological creatures, the Nereids, innocent bystanders helping stranded sailors, half fish, half woman. Yet they had the voice of what one would say was an angel, Aaliyahs had the voice of Sirens, half bird, half woman. Greek legends who lured sailors to their death. The appearance of innocence, the harmonies of death, those were the Aaliyahs.

Think of something you desperately hate but at the same time love and need. That's what an Aaliyah brings out in me, that's what they bring out in anyone. The noise they make, it could be called a dashing hope of dreaming but it is known to destroy the very dream it creates. And to makes matters worse, there is one for everyone, a partner to accompany you for the rest of your days, created to match you, all while torturing and destroying you.

I want to run for cover, I want to hide from the deflected daemon sending wave after wave of power through me. Spring loses all its beauty as I scramble through the undergrowth, away from its breathing down my neck. The very nature of its confinement creates havoc in position.

To get away is the only power surging through my veins and I'm afraid if I stop, death will be upon me. But my lungs can not outrun this ongoing force, and my heart cannot pump blood fast enough to beat its score.

As I stumble to a stop, it's relinquishing, something I never even imagined would happen. I'm ready to fight, I'm ready to defeat whatever's invading me. The squeal it gives off makes me swell up with something I never imagined before; with pride, arrogance, spirit and dignity.

I'm ready to brush off its hold and push back whatever control it has over me, for I am strong and ready to fight back, but it overpowers me and I topple down, smashing my head into a puddle, making me come up coughing for air, and letting my gaze linger on my reflection on the water, producing a series of headache attacks and nausea. The Aaliyah is upon me, the Aaliyah is here. I reel back in shock and stumble backwards, half crawling, scrambling to get away from the presence from which I was merely inches away to touching with my nose.

I am in great distress, having to witness the fall of mankind, the weakness of all, the destruction of every being. This shadow is the end to everything I have ever known before, it is what controls and kills its owner and follower. Desolation and dejection cruises through my veins like a stream through a canyon. For before me, for before my very eyes, is the image of myself.


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Sorry there was nothing for October, I've had family issues and exams taking up all my time. Anyway, read, enjoy, comment (for all those silent readers, please) and share. Luv you.

  Esther Alós © All rights reserved 

Fall

Tis what life shall bring.

Let me be clear on what exactly dystopia means.

Dystopia:

An imagined place or state in which everything is unpleasant or bad, typically a totalitarian or environmentally degraded one. 

To make you understand better, I guess the simplest way of telling you what a dystopia is would be explaining the only thing that I have left in my life, if one would call it a life. This, is my story. 

It all started three hundred years ago, when the "internet" started to be developed massively.The time came when no one could have a life if not with their portable telephones. My distant relatives were firm believers of leaving behind that beast of a thing which sucked the life out of whoever held it in their hands. For them, it was merely an object to set aside. Now, those objects that were of so importance and vital for their living are now collecting dust in the very corners of the masers. Do you not know of the masers? Barely anyone passes by them, they are in the ruins of the old cities, those like New York, London and Madrid. I believe in the old language, the word for a maser was a museum. The older masers were torn down by the scum that filtered through the streets, merely a hundred years back, when everything started to go desperately wrong, for the ones who live the devastation left, is us.

For those who are to come, I fear for what may lay ahead. But for now, I may only suffer in silence, beyond what I have fought to avoid. Everyday I try hard to make amends with the society I now live in, but every day, I find it harder to survive. The sights all around me are like nothing you have ever seen before. The view from my very window would be considered an exceptionally unique landscape, except, for the fact that I personally dislike having rotten, melted rubbish just being dumped in front of my house for endless periods of time.

Some time ago, the need for electricity grew, and, with it, the necessity for water to cool down all the engines and generators. Now, that meant the sea levels started to decrease with the sudden overwhelming drain of the water in it. And, as everything in life, the water supply wasn't infinite, not even taking into account all the continental water that had already been pumped out in all the ways possible. Thus being the fact, we were left without water.

Technology advanced, and with it, some of the needs for water decreased though, unfortunately, it failed to advance fast enough, and the Earth became the desolate desert I now live in. Plants started to wither and die, trees became less and almost disappeared altogether. Rain forests and forests ceased to exist, masses of green erased from Earth. I fear there is not much more to tell you, for the only knowledge I posses has been passed down through generations, each story unwinding and expanding from its author, creating twisted story lines waving back and forth through time. Paper books were abandoned for the lack of paper, and, though technology prospered, it only did so for a while until thing began to go downhill with global resources and economies, retaking us to past centuries where knowing things was as rare as having money.

What I can tell you is the outstanding increase of the human population. So incredible was it that many, many, spaceships were sent out with thousands of people on each one, but because we no longer had any means of communication, they were lost forever into the great darkness. Such drastic measures were taken in vain unfortunately, and the planet was still filled to the brim, causing the deaths of millions by famine, droughts, being broke or having no where to live and sleep.

My time is now different. Nothing would please me more than being able to tell you everything is going much better and the human race has taken over again, but I'm afraid I can't, for we are now fewer than ever, striving to live a life never meant for us. To tell you about the marvelous smells I enjoy as soon as I open a window would be lying. There is nothing but foul odors invading your nasal cavity sensory cells, the very reason it is impossible to step outside without being poisoned. Yes, we are still humans just like those who lived so many years ago and oxygen is very much needed still, which is why it is supplied by tanks who try to recreate its original essence, but in vain. Tanks which are only chemical reactions determine our live source. Tubes, tubes that let us live.

Huge embankments of garbage and trash the size of countries right outside your window. No fauna to be proud of, only those that managed to have a mutation and survive the bitter conditions. Drastic changes in temperatures at sudden times.

For this to be left to those that remain makes me shudder. I for one, cannot say we are what we used to be, for greed and wanting everything destroyed everything. Our everything, the green planet.

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Do not take the Earth for granted, take for granted every day will never be the same for it. Take care of our dear planet, it will not last forever.

http://www.50waystohelp.com/

http://www.begreensystems.co.uk/

http://www.kidsbegreen.org/

http://www.wikihow.com/Help-Save-the-Planet-Earth

http://science.howstuffworks.com/environmental/green-science/save-earth-top-ten.htm


Read, love, enjoy, share. Luv you

  Esther Alós © All rights reserved 

Regular Anomaly

He's at it again. But he doesn't mean it. Right? Wait no, no doubt. He doesn't mean it, yeah, I'm sure of that. Practically sure, almost sure. Almost? No, sure. Okay, stop it, you are sure, you are confident and you know it. You really know it. Go on, get up, go to the bathroom and look at yourself in the mirror. Yeah, that's it, with discretion, nobody is noticing , you're doing great. Stare into the mirror, go on. I see what I shouldn't see, I see a haggard woman, ridden with the years of continuous repetition. Mark. And spirits. My husband and alcohol.

For thinking it could go away so quickly, the punishment is to endure the pain for a longer period. Much to say about last night, yet so little to be able to tell. Imagine yourself in a dinner party with two old friends you haven't seen in a long time. Imagine a carefully set up table, with each tableware carefully laid out, each knife, each fork, placed with the exact measures required for the perfect dinning place. Imagine candlelight lighting up each plate with a exquisite delicacy, the amount needed to see the luxuries calculated on each place. A work of art, to be exact. And yes, I most definitely went all out to make everything perfect. Wouldn't you do that, taking in consideration that the friends coming to dinner were one of the richest and, I hate to admit, snobbiest couples around. To have everything laid out as it is supposed to is practically doing nothing for the great Mrs.Enriqueta Williams, note the sarcasm.

At the beginning, everything went as planned, with no reason to fear the wrath of gossip flowing around, sprouting from Mrs.Williams mouth. Then my dear Mark took out another bottle of red wine, and another, and another. Already Mrs.Williams mouth was turned down in distaste, and Mark's comments getting louder by the moment, reaching the level of shouting I was so used to hearing every single day, from dawn to dusk, from dusk to dawn.

I know he doesn't mean it, he just really likes to drink, what happened last night was just another mistake of his, he doesn't mean no harm. Yesterday, an oddness in between the usual roughness of the situation, a disadvantage of sorts to the rest of us. Mrs.Williams acted affected while her husband merely looked looked down at Mark.And even they knew the worst was still to come, the starting of the parade was as commonly known as the introductions for the upcoming masterpiece, for the work of art prepared by the host of the show, in this case, Mark. And true to his word, Mark displayed an uncanny enthusiasm as he retold stories of the past, so enthusiastic with his wonderful past that the stores were being linked together in a nonsense of slurred words jumbling out in a hurried mass of misunderstanding.

I can not quite remember the number of the many wine bottles displayed on the table, nor can I recount the beers wasted in honour of the festivity. Shameful fact being the festive occasion used as an excuse, yet if not for a special night, many more would have been opened. I thoroughly hate, pardon my excessive use of the word unfortunately needed, anything to do with alcohol, ridden into my system throughout the years like a disease waiting to be cured, but never having enough funds to be able to get through the never ending bad patch. 

Throughout the night, a sour taste invaded my palate, in honour of my dear Mark. But he meant no harm, I know he didn't, he never does. It's only the alcohol taking, you can't blame him, it wasn't his fault. From many have come the words I now dread, one day he'll hurt you, don't take it lightly, it's a big problem, don't defend him, etc. But my mind may not care, for love has over-passed anything else, to even begin to ponder about the dangers only some people can bring on.

Rowdy and violent, desperate and loud, Mark is. But alas, never shall a fault of his be pulled to light by me. To me, he is but the divine perfection.The Williams wasted no time to flee the nest of destruction living in my household. If only but anybody else could see the halo around Mark, I wouldn't strive so for what is a building without its foundations.  And for what unknown fact shall I destroy the glue holding me together,  for which crimes should Mark pay, but for the one of loving me.

To me, the ruined table that lays in the dining room is worth but a mere thought, a bitter memory of a passed night. To me, the smell that still lingers throughout the house is like smelling yourself, you know it exists yet you are oblivious to the smell any longer. Yet, if I were to think about it I would smell it, and admit I must, the smell is slightly different. Lighter. For Mark passed out long before he could drink his daily share of alcohol, his rightful medicine, as he might say. A rightful sin, as others might say. A rightful life, as I permanently will say.

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Addiction to alcohol is not something to be taken lightly. The character in my story was a devoted wife who never saw any harm in what her husband was doing. She will sometimes lose it and think that it is actually wrong, yet she will continue to protect and defend him.

Alcohol addiction can be caused by many, many factors, of which we have no right to judge but we do have to take precautions with those who live around us, and take care of them, help them and, most of all, love them through it all, just be careful to not overdo it like my character, because then it becomes a serious problem that is very, very hard to overcome. The most important fact os to help with the problem because as much as you may convince yourself, it IS a problem.

http://www.alcoholics-anonymous.org.uk/ 

http://www.helpguide.org/mental/alcohol_abuse_alcoholism_help_treatment_prevention.htm

http://psychcentral.com/blog/archives/2013/09/26/steps-toward-recovery-from-alcohol-addiction/

http://www.narconon.org/drug-rehab/alcoholic-family.html

http://www.helpguide.org/mental/alcohol_abuse_alcoholism_signs_effects_treatment.htm

  Esther Alós © All rights reserved 

But never to touch and never to keep

She helped little Eion bundle up in his thin coat and covered him with whatever scrap of clothing she found. When she finished, Eion practically represented a little penguin, similar to the one he devoted his time to every single day, his favorite. You could sense the feeling of excitement that was being created among the residents, especially the little ones, maybe the only ones were actually those among those ages.

Lynn watched Eion scramble to reach the door first. For him, snow was something abstract, something he'd never seen before. For her, it was yet another sign of misery that added up to the years spent in that place. Eion's history was very brief, he had come from Africa with his aunt after a bomb had exploded in his home village, with him luckily away. He had come to know Lynn when he was just a sniffling grown toddler, and Lynn had made him the little brother she'd never had for the next three years of his life.

 She stopped him just as he reached the door and combed his already messy curls she knew would come back almost immediately. Lynn also knew that today was the day potential takers would come out and see which of the children seemed fit enough to take home, though those taken usually were always Eion's age, never more. Above six was an unwritten law clearly stating you couldn't take them home and those that were lucky enough never lasted much time outside the place. Located on the suburbs of Minneapolis, Freeman's Home for the Children wasn't generally known, which caused even fewer adoptions to happen and Lynn was determined to get Eion away as soon as possible. She didn't want him to spend fifteen years in an orphanage, like she had.

Moved from house to house, never fitting in, Lynn had had a horrid childhood. Used to being pushed around to and from places, she never knew the joy of a family. One of the social workers had once told her that her parents had meant to care for her but they'd never had enough money so they gave her up. Lynn had never believed it, it seemed as far-fetched as the stories fed to the younger children. Stories that made up the riches of parents but their accidental car accidents, stories that fed on children's hopes that their parents had actually cared and loved them. She wasn't as naive as they thought she was. More often then not, an infant was brought in, some even reaching the mere four days of age, having been found on the edge of a road or left by the dumpsters.No caring or loving parents, no matter the upbringing, would have left an innocent child like that. Abandoned was the only way to define it.

Lynn was considered as one of the workers now, at barely seventeen years of age, so much time had she spent there. Throughout the years she'd never had any of the staff giving her even more than a mere glance, let alone care for her or give her the love she so desperately needed as to not decay with time. She'd gone through abusive foster parents more than once, never to protest because, if she did, she'd be giving up the chance at a normal life, going to school and going out with friends or on dates. Her first kiss was given by a rotting foster father, determined to touch her body in more ways than one. and her first hug had never come.

Eion was happily playing outside, carefree, unknown to the world upon his shoulders. How she wished to have had a normal life, even arguing with parents was worth it to her. yet she'd grown up without love. She'd led an unforgiving life, being switched around in life, with barely three months in each home. Drugs and alcohol had both played an important part in her life, determining futures that went away untouched.

Lynn joined Eion in throwing around snowballs, hitting people in the face with a big flourish of snow and drops of ice. Eion had the face of one in pure delight, full of redness and joy, running around, dashing between people and squealing when a mass of snow hit him. How could anyone not want him? He was one of the happiest kids there, helping others reach the fulfillment of joy. Out of the corner of her eye, Lynn watched as a couple approached the front garden of the home and started to watch the kids. Oh, how perfect they were for Eion, a happy young couple filled with love to devote on him, how desperately she wanted them to take him home.

Lynn picked up the little squirt and started throwing him into the air, trying to get their attention. After a few throws, they looked interested enough and started coming closer. They started to speak to her and ask her questions about Eion, asking if he was her brother, how old he was, was he any trouble. Lynn answered as truthfully as she could without shattering his chances for adoption. In her mind, everything was going according to plan and it looked as if they really liked Eion, enough to take him home, to love him and to not let him turn into something horrid, ridden by the years spent in orphanages. No matter how much people did to change that situation, the only hope was to give love or take children home to be loved there.

When it looked as if negotiations were coming to an end, as if they were really happy with Eion and were ready to take him home with them, the tables turned. They went home and Eion was forgotten as their footsteps faded into the night. No other couples came.

Eion's first. Eion's first chance at going home with someone. Eion's first chance of being loved properly. Eion's first chance of getting out of the rejected kids home. And most importantly, Eion's first of the many times of disappointment to come. Lynn cleared away Eion´s tears, she too had suffered that disappointment too many times to count and each and every one of them were like a direct shot to the heart. It didn't matter if you thought they were finally going to be the ones, all that mattered was that you were never liked, you never were enough for them, for anyone. To Lynn it was clear that growing up and living the life she had, only brought endless pain and sadness, only brought solitude and helplessness. She begged for no one to ever live that.

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Is it me, or do children in this situation really get forgotten? Millions of children all around the world suffer because no one wants them enough to give them love, to care for them. For millions, each day is a constant reminder that they're alone. Now I'm not saying we should all adopt, obviously I'm aware not everyone who reads this actually does have enough income to be able to support someone else, nor do I think all of you are old enough to adopt anyway. I just want to say that sometimes we can do something to help, even if it's only going to volunteer or making small places like mine known ( Freeman's Home for the Children, as far as I know, doesn't exist), enough for people to also come to the smaller ones too, to give those children the chances they deserve.

Read, comment and share, my little minions.

  Esther Alós © All rights reserved