I remembered that this was a vision- though a part of me felt that it may have been real- something that the man who spoke in riddles had precipitated.

It was the flash of her eyes that instantaneously caused some part of me to again feel her looking down at me from the train tunnel ledge; calling me to begin the climb again.

She looked so different that I hadn’t recognized what was right in front of me for those hours- but I allowed myself to entertain that possibly it was her.

I heard a crow calling in the distance.
It called of a peculiar voice, which looking around was nowhere to be found.
I had thought a thousand times before throughout the ages that I had caught sight of the face of familiarity in the crowd; I had many times met eyes of affinity, or a foreign voice so intrinsically amicable, but never would permit myself to believe in the silly tales of fantastically wishful fates.

Had she died and lived in the number and manners as I had? Was this the past, present, that yet to come; or simply a projection of the uncontrolled, loneliest fragment of my imagination? My throat began to tighten, my jaw tensed, and a wave of tormented grief washed over me; bringing with it a single drop of salt from my eyes. I had always spent my time running from the past- I couldn’t live there anymore. I couldn’t sleep away the todays any longer. Everything she and those 13 years brought with them- that they undyingly carried of meaning- was dead, was it not?
I was dead.
I looked back at her, with new eyes to discern. I remembered how the sun had always found her copper tresses, but she would always find the most torrential deluge. I remembered the scars that decorated her chest; I could see that they had extended their grip about her. I remembered when we had once thought that something in the universe was finally on our side and in the tentatively silly Magic that kept us always looking for it.
Yet that was all before;
I again surveyed the scarred vine running alongside her neck.
Before the climb, before the journey called, before the world; the life, the loss, burden, death, age, and preceding the violent awakening to a reality of an imminently wearing, withering attrition. If she had been able to see me- of which I still was uncertain if she was still even out there, anywhere- I would likely feel this same crushing, mournful shame at my small and ever  dwindling world- to the degradation of the very soul I remember being. I revisited wondering of where or who she had herself ended up becoming.
I wanted to try to enjoy the moment, but my mind never had been easily subdued in regards to the loss of everything I ever had, or thought I loved. This was just an illusion- an illusion of Time’s, wasn’t it? Time had taken more than just love from me- Time had taken all of me; of something seemingly irretrievable through the countless years I had strived to put the shards back together, in hopes of things ever being even close to the same. Yet I had done everything In my power to try to save the pieces-

Hadn’t I?


13 thoughts on “About

  1. Writing will soothe your soul. Years ago, I taught my daughter to journal. She also suffers from depression. I know when she’s feeling really bad because she’ll be scribbling away incessantly. Keep on writing because, believe me, your words will definitely help someone else and their words will help you. It’s like a two-way conversation that’s extremely intimate.

  2. Dear BloodyEndurance,
    whoever you are, whereever you are, just know this. I’ve spent the last few hours going through your blog and you possess a beautiful sense of expression , which someone who’s gone through a lot of pain can only understand. I have been battling depression for some years now, and as soon as I put my feelings to paper, they somehow lose their power over me- writing is my therapy. I hope it works the same way for you as well. I hope you keep writing, keep creating, keep expressing. I wish you luck.

    Love and Peace,

  3. your expressions are about pain … but I will call them beautiful, elegant, clear. thank you for sharing them. often it is not so much “finding” the right words as it is being in the right space so that the words fall down over us. endurance warrior…your name itself says so much to another who knows.

  4. Thankyou so much for following my blog. I hope that my writings can help you in some way. I love your work. Keep it up and I look forward to your next piece 🙂

  5. My Dear Endurance Warrior,
    When my wonderful friend Ajaytao below nominated me for an award, I thought of those who have struggled enough and who keep fighting. Your blog name/title says it all for me. You have earned this award and hopefully some of what it represents. Please accept this as sign of gratitude for what you bring to me by being so open, honest, and courageous!.
    I Nominate you for a Inner Peace award and ask that you please accept it and oblige by doing nothing, including thanking me!
    there are no linkbacks for this award, so do with it as you deem necessary

      • I’ve written a novel repped by Paula Munier of Talcott Notch. In DAYSTEALER I’ve included some original songs and poetry, so it would be nice to run work by someone with REAL poetry talent such as yourself from time to time. Of course if you’re interested, you’d be mentioned in the acknowledgements.

      • Yeah I’d love to help in whatever ways I can. I’m working to publish a book of all my works in the near future, do you have any publishing experience then? Cuz I’m not so clear on anything, as it would be my first publishing. Maybe I could contribute a poem to your book, get some advertising?

  6. Hi there — I loved your last post but had difficulty finding it on the Reader. I wanted to reblog it, but when I hit the “press this” button, it only showed up on my site as a link. Is there any way you can post it again on the WP reader so I can choose “reblog” from there. That way, the picture will show up on my site. If you know of another way, let me know.

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