Reasons.
Reasons.
A reason. We seemed to be just looking for a reason, no matter what it was for. It was something along the lines of… the only way we could be motivated to do it was if there was a reason to do it. It was something in the way of… what’s the point? There’s no reason.
And I always wanted to tell you – always wanted to tell you that though we might not know it yet – there’s always a reason. It didn’t have to be in plain sight for it to be there, did it?
Am I stupid? For thinking that maybe you would listen to me just because… because I wanted you to. For thinking that maybe if I just told you there was a reason, instead of showing you the reason, that you would stop looking for it.
Pale skin is growing even paler in the yellow moonlight, and your eyes are slowly getting dimmer as this all races through my mind. Your spider web veins – I can practically seem them pulsating, threatening to explode with your heartbeat as you’re gasping for air.
Reason reason reason reason. Stupid fucking reasons. You were smart. You asked the good questions – the ones that no one, not even I could answer. You asked the ones that were logical and illogical all at the same time. The ones that made us ponder, the ones that silenced the entire room when your angel’s voice echoed out into the air.
What’s the reason for living?
That had been the question that stunned us all. You sat there in the room, etching invisible patterns into your delicate ivory wrists, eyes cast downward, as silence bounced off the walls. My very own question stayed sat on the tip of my tongue, hidden behind my lips, threatening to fly off thickly. Everybody else immediately rushed into excuses, answers, questions of their own, but I stayed quiet, staring at you.
You looked up at me, but your eyes were empty. It was as if you knew that nobody knew what the reason was, and oh, darling, you have no idea how much I wanted to pick you up, and hold you and kiss it and make it better.
I guess you can’t do that with hearts, maybe? Maybe when the disease, the sickness has spread, it’s impossible to make it better. When it’s sunk into your head that there’s no reason, maybe nobody could kiss it and make it better.
Hearts are fragile things.
And you, you just continued to shake your head at all the other’s stupid possible theories, until finally, I spoke. “Maybe it’s hidden?” my question sounded disgusting and un-eloquent in comparison to yours.
But you smirked, your dusty pink lips curling upwards, your eyes to raised mine once more, and you nodded. “But that’s stupid.”
“But sometimes life leaves unanswered questions.”
It wasn’t good enough for you – I should’ve known, even when you nodded and said okay, I should’ve known that it just simply wasn’t enough for you. You had to have hard, physical reasoning for your answers.
Reasons reasons reasons.
You wanted a reason, and you never found it.
Love wasn’t enough?
All the money and the treasures in the world weren’t enough?
What could I have given you, to make you believe that reasons were sometimes not visible? What could I have done to make you stay and keep fighting?
Your breathing is even worse, and I can’t say anything, just look at you, your eyes getting dimmer by the second still, your fingers trembling – you look so much more fragile than even your heart ever was. You know as well as I do that this is the end. I’m afraid to say anything.
“What’s the reason?” I whisper to you, and you laugh, dry and harsh, until it leads into a coughing fit.
“T-that’s the first g-good question you’ve ever asked,” you sputter out to me. “Th-there’s no reason for me to be h-here,” you rasp, and I try to block the river that’s going to fall from my eyes in any given second.
Veins pulsating, I can practically see them, they’re blue green electrifying colour moving and flowing. The ruby red paint continues to fall out onto the floor, all over my hands and your clothes.
This isn’t right, this isn’t right, this isn’t right. I grip your hand tighter, and you smile again. “They say the reasons are inv-visible,” you murmur, words slurring together now. “That th-they only appear in short b-bursts and puzzle p-pieces. I would have never thought…” you trail off, beginning to run your fingers faintly along the papery skin covering my ceramic-like bones. “You were my reason.” You finish.
And finally the levee lets loose, and the water flows out, and salt water mixes with crimson paint, and you laugh dryly again. “It’s for the best,” you whisper. “I’m not your reason.”
“What is the reason for living?” I ask you, “In general.”
A smile crosses over your porcelain face once more, and you close your eyes. “Love.”
Reasons, reasons, reasons.
And I always wanted to tell you – always wanted to tell you that though we might not know it yet – there’s always a reason. It didn’t have to be in plain sight for it to be there, did it?
Am I stupid? For thinking that maybe you would listen to me just because… because I wanted you to. For thinking that maybe if I just told you there was a reason, instead of showing you the reason, that you would stop looking for it.
Pale skin is growing even paler in the yellow moonlight, and your eyes are slowly getting dimmer as this all races through my mind. Your spider web veins – I can practically seem them pulsating, threatening to explode with your heartbeat as you’re gasping for air.
Reason reason reason reason. Stupid fucking reasons. You were smart. You asked the good questions – the ones that no one, not even I could answer. You asked the ones that were logical and illogical all at the same time. The ones that made us ponder, the ones that silenced the entire room when your angel’s voice echoed out into the air.
What’s the reason for living?
That had been the question that stunned us all. You sat there in the room, etching invisible patterns into your delicate ivory wrists, eyes cast downward, as silence bounced off the walls. My very own question stayed sat on the tip of my tongue, hidden behind my lips, threatening to fly off thickly. Everybody else immediately rushed into excuses, answers, questions of their own, but I stayed quiet, staring at you.
You looked up at me, but your eyes were empty. It was as if you knew that nobody knew what the reason was, and oh, darling, you have no idea how much I wanted to pick you up, and hold you and kiss it and make it better.
I guess you can’t do that with hearts, maybe? Maybe when the disease, the sickness has spread, it’s impossible to make it better. When it’s sunk into your head that there’s no reason, maybe nobody could kiss it and make it better.
Hearts are fragile things.
And you, you just continued to shake your head at all the other’s stupid possible theories, until finally, I spoke. “Maybe it’s hidden?” my question sounded disgusting and un-eloquent in comparison to yours.
But you smirked, your dusty pink lips curling upwards, your eyes to raised mine once more, and you nodded. “But that’s stupid.”
“But sometimes life leaves unanswered questions.”
It wasn’t good enough for you – I should’ve known, even when you nodded and said okay, I should’ve known that it just simply wasn’t enough for you. You had to have hard, physical reasoning for your answers.
Reasons reasons reasons.
You wanted a reason, and you never found it.
Love wasn’t enough?
All the money and the treasures in the world weren’t enough?
What could I have given you, to make you believe that reasons were sometimes not visible? What could I have done to make you stay and keep fighting?
Your breathing is even worse, and I can’t say anything, just look at you, your eyes getting dimmer by the second still, your fingers trembling – you look so much more fragile than even your heart ever was. You know as well as I do that this is the end. I’m afraid to say anything.
“What’s the reason?” I whisper to you, and you laugh, dry and harsh, until it leads into a coughing fit.
“T-that’s the first g-good question you’ve ever asked,” you sputter out to me. “Th-there’s no reason for me to be h-here,” you rasp, and I try to block the river that’s going to fall from my eyes in any given second.
Veins pulsating, I can practically see them, they’re blue green electrifying colour moving and flowing. The ruby red paint continues to fall out onto the floor, all over my hands and your clothes.
This isn’t right, this isn’t right, this isn’t right. I grip your hand tighter, and you smile again. “They say the reasons are inv-visible,” you murmur, words slurring together now. “That th-they only appear in short b-bursts and puzzle p-pieces. I would have never thought…” you trail off, beginning to run your fingers faintly along the papery skin covering my ceramic-like bones. “You were my reason.” You finish.
And finally the levee lets loose, and the water flows out, and salt water mixes with crimson paint, and you laugh dryly again. “It’s for the best,” you whisper. “I’m not your reason.”
“What is the reason for living?” I ask you, “In general.”
A smile crosses over your porcelain face once more, and you close your eyes. “Love.”
Reasons, reasons, reasons.