Letter #6 "Dear Old Friends"

Dear old friends,

I'm sorry if you feel neglected, but you are not anymore in my focus. I'm sorry if this will seem cold, but if I needed you, I would have called you. I didn't, so draw the conclusion yourselves.

But please, old friends, do not think that you were not once important. I have a very refined taste for people, you were once exactly what I needed. From you I have learned and grew, and for that I will be forever thankful. You were maybe on my speed dial, and maybe just someone I talked to if I  ran into in the street. Nevertheless, you were unique. If I ever shared but a single part of my life with you, you have made your mark, and I do remember you.

Old friends, you may not remember me at all. I may have been someone you hung out with when you were drunk on the weekends, or someone you would see once a month on a gig, but if we just shared a smile, or a look, or if I was holding your hair while you were vomiting drunk, then I remember you.
If you were someone who I considered my best friends, and then after a long time all of a sudden we lost contact, and you think I have forgotten you completely, I haven't. I remember you.
If you were my best friend for the biggest part of my life, but after a single summer, we became complete strangers, I still remember you. And I know that you know things about me nobody will ever know. And also that you will never be able to understand the person I am now.

My life is a book and you were all crucial characters for the storyline, and don't know if you're coming back in the sequels.

Old friends, you are gone, but not forgotten. And all I can say...

Is thank you.

With love,

Cicmila

The Broken Ones

We are the broken ones.

Our wings were clipped
And our sky was clouded
But somehow we had the strength to spread our arms and swing hard enough to shoot right through those clouds.

We are so cold.
Our arms can never wrap all around our broken bodies and shattered minds.

Our thoughts are runaway fireflies
And if you somehow catch a few in a jar, close it tight.

When we raise our hand to speak our mind, we are told to be silent.
But it doesn't even matter. You could never hear us from beneath the pile of rocks we're buried under.

We spend our days wondering if being tortured is really what we were born for.

Fighting back hurts so much it's just not worth it anymore.
We are mere shadows.
The only thing we're good as is a bad example.
As a warning for where you end up if you dare be different.

Our backs were broken and pieces shattered in the wind to make sure we never stand tall again.

We don't know our own names, nobody has said them in such a long time.
Nobody had a reason to.

We are simply

The broken ones.

Cicmila

Too Old

She felt old. Like the world was pushing down on her for too long and she did not have springs in her feet to jump back up. Like yesterday's sunset was the last one she will ever see. Like for the first time, life is too long.
Like she had already passed the finish line, but she kept running.
Like being alone wasn't punishment enough, it had to last forever, and then when she found someone, she lost them in a blink.
Her eyes could not see the far away bright expectations others had, nor could they see the little miracles right before them. They could only see that cold, empty space in the middle.
Sometimes here views were brightened by the glasses of a laugh following a family dinner burnt chicken, or a grandchild's picture just for her, but those were merely moments.
She would slowly walk the peaceful park she use to storm through, making sure she's not home late from the dance.
Her lungs were too weak to accept all the air she wanted them to have, and the smell of sweet flowers no longer reached her memories.
She was lost in the town she grew up in, feeling very well every one of her memories being pushed out and replaced by someone else's, younger and stronger.

She did not know about the bright memories others had of her, never to be forgotten.
So she felt too old.

Cicmila

Letter #5 "Dear Rain"

Dear rain,

There are so many things I could say. We've been friends since the earliest days, and my god, have I grown fond of you! You seem so perfect, the way you set the mood. Sometimes I think you are all a day is missing. You see the world in such a special way, and I am forever grateful to you for trying to show me that. You, of course, washed away all my fears, I feel safer with you around at night. You go perfect with tea and piano. With warm hugs, or blankets. Or both.
On my first ever concert, you made the piano keys so slippery I made countless mistakes. I don't resent it, you made it special.
When I didn't know what to do you would always unite me with someone under an umbrella. I would escape that, of course: it's so unfair that you have traveled so far, just to be denied touching my skin.
Dearest rain, I love you. You make every moment that more special, and you make decisions that much easier to live with.
But rain, you made mistakes. I will never forget what you did may, 2014. You took so many lives, how could you?! I can't forgive you for that. I won't.
Oh, rain, you seem to follow me everywhere I go, so I've made peace with you and let you in once again. Thank you, rain, for everything. You mean so much to me, you will never know. If I ever have a daughter, that's what I will name her, Rain.
Come on, rain, let's hold hands and walk down the path to a new year once again. I will be waiting for you on the other side of winter.
See you soon, dear friend.

Yours always,

When You're Alone

There are some special moments.
When you're walking down a street in the middle of the night, and you feel like you are the only person in the world.
When you put your headphones in sitting by the river and you just breathe slowly and gather your thoughts just to let them go wild in the next moment.
When you look at the mirror for so long you don't recognize yourself and you don't feel as alone anymore.
When you find yourself feeling free enough to put a tiny hop in every one of your steps. When you sing to yourself and nobody else, because that's the only time when your voice sounds so beautiful.
It's the moments when you feel alone in the best way possible. When you're not paranoid that someone can see you or hear you or read your mind. When you know you won't be judged by anyone but yourself. At those moments, what do you think about?
Do you think about the time in eight grade when you kissed your best friends girlfriend, but you both decided to never tell? Do you think about the silly plays you use to put on for your parents friends when you were five? Do you think about the diary you had when you were eleven, that you promised to write every single day, but forgot about it the next day, because when you're eleven there are so many more important things to think about. Like what you're gonna get at the candy store. Do you think about the bills that you have to pay but you know you can't afford. Or do you remember all the times when your guardian had to pay the bills, but all you cared about was the new toy and now you're devoured by guilt? Or do you think about the cute person who you shared eye contact with in the bus this morning, and in those few short looks you imagined a whole future with them, a whole lifetime worth of memories that are yet to happen. And then they get out on the next stop, without giving you anything more than a smile. Bummer. Do you think about the chocolate chip cookie you had in the morning, and diet you promised to go on the night before? Do you think about how awesome it would be if you were on a huge stage singing the tune that's been stuck in your head the whole day? It's ok, we all wanted to be superstars at one point. Do you think about life and death and the greater questions? Or do you think about the light you left on when you left home this morning? Do you think about the time when that nerdy somebody you secretly adored was so obviously hitting on you but you were too young and dumb to realize? Do you think about the time when you went and cut all your hair off, just because you could? Do you think that your life is a movie and that moment is an epic scene with awesome background music?
Because it is. It's a scene that you should remember. Whatever you are thinking about, when you're so alone that you can be your true self, it's the core of the beautiful structure of thousand materials called you.
So love those moments and be thankful for each and every thought, because you're the director and the star of that movie, and you won't get a sequel. So make sure you do it the way you want the first time around.

Cicmila

Sunrise

They say the sunrise is the most beautiful thing one can see.
I often disagree.
I want to see the tears in a parent's eyes while he watches his firstborn get his diploma, holding the camera in shaky hands - the same hand that use to cradle his tiny baby's head while he was burdening his mind thinking will they eat tomorrow.

I want to see pain a lover hides from his other when he hears she's going away. Because real love hurts.

I want to see the freedom of a girl finally finding the courage to dress her wrong-gender body in a dress.

I want to see the joy on a child's face when they pick up the first fruit from the tree they had planted with their parents, realizing they have a purpose and are able to create something so beautiful.

I want to see the face of my other half that follows the words "I love you".

I think compared to all of that, a sunrise is nothing special. But I would like to see it.

Sometimes, I really wish I wasn't blind.

Cicmila

Fool

Sometimes, we're just fools. Sometimes, we would sacrifice everything we have for one thing that seem important in a single moment. Sometimes we would risk everything for a single glance. Because when you put it down, that is what it's all about.

We worry so much about the future, that we don't focus on the present. And then spend the future wishing we could change the past. It's not fair that life doesn't have a tutorial. It just throws you in the fire and lets you get about on your own. Good luck, fools.

And not every story has a happy ending. But life isn't a story. Life is a compilation, almost a series of many stories. Some of those stories last a few moments, some last for decades. Some are so important they blur out everything else, and some overlap.

Dear fool, we write our own stories.
What are you gonna do about it?

Cicmila