diren's philtatos

I built a castle for you, my dear - I spent my years on it, day after day after day. I listened to songs written by some lonely souls far across the ocean and thought of you. I wrote you a poem, and another poem, and another poem, and then tried prose but I learned quickly that all the words in the world weren't enough. I drew your face on a serviette, on the back of my hand, on a piece of paper, on the pages of my favorite book, on walls and on the whole world. I spent a thought on you and became addicted. I let your name roll over my tongue, again and again and again. This is my castle for you. I built it all by myself and I will go down with this castle - let the earth beneath choke it all. I built you a castle, my dear - but does it even matter if I never had the courage to show it to you? I HAVE SO MUCH TO DO I DON'T EVEN HAVE TIME TO THINK. BUT AT LEAST I ALSO DON'T HAVE TIME TO MISS YOU ANYMORE.

Fear is asking yourself What if nothing will ever be as good?

There's a fly in my head and it just won't shut up. It keeps flying and buzzing and drawing its circles. Fuck you, stupid fly. And fuck him, really - for being the only reason why I'm still wide awake in the first place.

I let ordinary life part me from someone special and I pay the price every morning after having dreamed he's still here, he's still with me only to realize that he is not. I let him be taken away by  The-Way-Things-Just-Go and now things just go the way I never wanted them to.

One of the biggest lies we tell ourselves is that we want to be happy. We just don't. As humans we have a dying desire to be constantly unhappy and sad and heartbroken. Why do Romeo and Juliet die? Why do we love sad songs? Why don't you call him? - The telephone's right next to you, there's his number. All it takes is you calling him and telling him that, damn , you have never quite loved anybody the way you love him. He would say something like "I love you, too." and you would live happily ever after. Why do you stay with her knowing better than anyone else that she is toxic and that all she does is hurt you again and again and again? Why didn't you go to New York, huh? Why weren't you in London, or Iceland, or South Africa, or wherever it is really that you're heart was hungry for? Why didn't you work harder? It could've been you walking up that stage and her watching you, not the other way round. Then she would've been t

Everybody has one person they will never be able to forget.  My person comes in a blue-green ocean.  And I'm drowning in this ocean. At night I drown in the memories, unable to sleep as I am dragged to the bottom of the ocean. I fall deeper and deeper into the blue-green water, letting it take me, fill my mouth, lungs, mind. And I will die in this ocean, die at its bottom without air to breathe - hoping that perhaps in death I will be free from you. Free from the chains you have put on my mind, never letting my thoughts get out of the cage that is you - thoughts about you, dreams about you, tears for you. Everything is just you, you, you. There's no room for anything else. I WISH I COULD STOP THINKING ABOUT YOU, I WISH I COULD STOP THINKING ABOUT YOU, I WISH I COULD STOP THINKING ABOUT YOU, BUT IT ALL COMES DOWN, DOWN, DOWN ON ME. Will you always be there in every sad song, in every painting, in every stranger's face I pass on the street, in the sunshine an

So, I have been meaning to write a novel for ages. Even had a go at NaNoWriMo a couple of times but it never wanted to work out. The story lost steam and every sentence I wrote seemed like the wrong one. Currently, I'm working on another thing. Sure, it's probably condemned to fail just as it has happened all the times before. For some reason, though, I'm hopeful. Perhaps that is naïve. Somehow, without having written one single word of the novel itself, I'm closer to a finished first draft than never before. I have been planning a lot lately - a lot . The idea of the story is kind of a mixture of all the ideas I had before. It takes the good from each of them. I've been working on the idea for quite a time now and I'm still not tired of it which is definitely a good sign. I have done some wordbuilding with more than 2,000 words until now and that's not even the half of what I have to do to fully grasp the world and the setting. After that, I will conc

The man came and went like a lightning.  He came on a friday - the rain was heavier than anyone could remember - and spent the night in the only pension the village could offer. He was gone in the next morning and would never come back. However, as is commonly known lightnings aren’t measured by their duration but by the amount of catastrophe they leave behind. "The Man", Ed Sheeran

Today #1 Today was an absolutely shit day. I'm left again thinking that I'm a worthless and ugly piece of shit. Also, I was ignored by someone I kind of may or may not care about. Which - you know - really, really sucks. And now that stupid hoe has just entered the bus - god, what have I done to deserve this? Today #2  I feel like throwing up, do you even know what an asshole you are? Do you know how much it hurts? And I'm sick of wondering what exactly it is I have messed up and this is not the first time that I'm feeling like this because of you and I just don't want to see you anymore, don't want to talk to you anymore. All I want to do is to throw up because there is no way, no way at all, I can keep all this inside of me, all this bullshit, all this hurt, the rejection, the aching, the pain, the feeling of being unnecessary and not welcome and just a worthless piece of shit and waste of time. Thank you for making me feel like that. Thank you very mu

My brother disappeared on the coldest day of the year. It had been snowing for a week straight and it was impossible to go anywhere. It kept snowing and my mother was a mess. I waited for spring to come and things to get better again. But it never came.  The home in which my grandfather lived was not very far so I used to visit him frequently during that time. I had a few people I hung around in school but I wasn’t too fond of neither of them and couldn’t imagine having conversations about anything that mattered. He always greeted me with a cup of hot chocolate and gave me his favorite blanket to sooth the winter’s cold away.  My grandfather was an amazing man. He had refused to fight in the war and gotten into quite a bit of trouble but that was probably what I adored so much about them. He met my grandmother and it was love - real, proper, true love, the sort one would only find in romance novels. They had brought a son to earth - a wicked, adventurous and handsome man, my f

I don't know how to start. It's weird really - feeling as if you have so much and nothing to say at the same time. Just yesterday I passed all the places in which we used to spend so much time together. Where I told you my biggest secrets and you told me yours. If I could turn back time ... I wouldn't. I don't want to have anything to do with you anymore. The thing is, I am not the same as I was before and you have changed, too. You have changed so much, I don't think there's anything left from my former best friend. It just saddens me to think how quickly everything can change. Losing you wasn't difficult because you were hurtful and toxic and not meant to stay. But if lost you - you whom I was so certain of would stay - then who else can I lose? And I didn't only lose you, but I also lost him and while I've long gotten over you, I still haven't gotten over him and perhaps never will. He still poisons my dreams, the loss of him haunts me a

So. I did some writing, I guess. It is very incoherent and just me rambling, really. I do quite like the first one. I'm currently reading »The Secret History« by Donna Tartt and the influences should be very obvious.  I am probably not the right person to tell this story. From the beginning to the end, I can merely be described as a minor side character and even now, looking back, I cannot say that I have fully understood what had happened to Hanna Grace that winter. Still, I will try to explain my impressions as clearly as possible. Despite being not the right person to tell this story, I guess I am the only one left.  The thing is, even now, after so much time has passed by, no one knows for sure who really had killed Hanna. It could have been anyone. Personally, I still believe it was Audree. But as I said — one cannot be sure. One might wonder why I have come to talk about this now, now that it is much too late, now that it has been ages since we all have seen or hea

Prompt: Pick up the book nearest to you. Use the last sentence on page 89 as today's writing prompt. I picked "The Book of Tomorrow" by Cecelia Ahern, haven't read it yet and there's probably no character named Cedric but I actually quite liked what I wrote. Which doesn't happen that often. I was smoking in my room and I didn't open the window because it was absolutely freezing out and whenever I opened my doors they used to just slam shut, which was a total head wreck. The air was filled with smoke soon, making it hard to see, even harder to breathe and hardest to think. I could totally just kill the world right now. My mood, of course, had nothing to do with Cedric. Definitely not. It was the fact that I was covered with smoke and couldn't open door nor window and had missed the bus in the morning and broken my favorite mug and my mum had stressed me out and my period was probably on the way. I didn't give a damn about that Cedric guy, rea