Countering Facts

The sun was beating down on the apartment on a Sunday afternoon. It made the sofa scorching hot and my glass of water sickly tepid. I wasn't doing much, just lying on that sofa, feeling just as tepid about life as that glass of water.


Too much conflict in the head. Too many regrets in life. Too many words left unsaid.


I learnt about regret in Cognitive Psychology; it's called counterfactual thinking. The words 'counterfactual thinking' is almost self-explanatory - it is thoughts which counter facts (duh) - about things which did not happen, but yet we wished had happened.


With counterfactual thinking, we'd consider the possibility that there were other paths we could have gone down had we done something differently. Maybe we could have rephrased something we said or taken ten seconds less to tie our shoelace as we were leaving to catch a train. Maybe...maybe...maybe...


Obviously, and unfortunately, you only consider all this in hindsight, so by then it would have been too late to have done anything.


Yeah...maybe you shouldn't have bothered to tie your shoelaces this morning...

...or said those words you said. Maybe you should have chosen to say something else or not say anything at all.


Feeling a little silly now, aren't we, spending so much time thinking about things which haven't happened. But yet we still play this stupid game with ourselves and by ourselves. We wish we could forget but it plays around and around in our heads like a broken tape recorder with OCD tendencies.


Before you know it, the sun had gone down and you're left on a couch which, by now, has braved enough heat to stay warm for the rest of the night. Too bad that's the only comfort you have as you're left with the hangover of a whirring, worried head..


The water is still tepid; you feel like shit; I will keep playing that broken tape recorder.

Tread Carefully

In a room covered by memories,
a lamp lights a corner
revealing stones and dust,
shards of glass
waiting to be trodden on.
And then there comes the feet
bare and white
which find their way
onto this battlefield of your hurt,
turning toys into ghosts
and smiling photos
to pictures on obituaries and headstones
stark white with death and loss.
So honey, tread carefully within this space
for there is nothing for you here...
...just what needs forgetting
and what needs letting go.


"Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams."

Unlucky

Tragic,
the lost of time;
the child who runs
and cries in vain;
You stop
why can't you see
paranoia and pain
that belongs nowhere
in remission
hidden.
Trains are missed
by seconds and steps;
So typically unfair;
you see no one go spare.

Fields of Flowers

What do you want, boy?
Running in circles,
directionless, and confused
you brought me along for the ride.
We crashed in the field
and you got up and left
while I lay there.
Winds crept up
and winters lurked around corners.
I watched the light change
and the skies darken
while waiting for spring
so that I could
make friends with the flowers
who you left me with.

Summer is now mid way
and flowers have nothing to say
and I'm left with thoughts
which I will bring into winter
when it comes - the thoughts
you left me with
to remind me again and again
that this loneliness is my own
when these flowers die
come winter once more.

Mothers in the Store

Mothers on task
strolling down aisles
children by their sides.
Arms start grabbing
for carrots and cans
frozen peas and crisps
while grabbing their children
who run amok amongst shelves.
As fathers are not seen
sat hidden in cubicles
mothers come to lie
on each other,
rolling prams into groups
and talking about life,
bitching about children
and husbands. So sad
they are reduced to this,
talking and lurking
behind backs.
Caring not for their own
but looking elsewhere.
What do you do when they
wander, wanting
what they don't have, neglecting
what they do have?

It comes Full Circle

On a trail so frequently used
where the earth wears thin and fades
something happens.

It begins and then ends
much happier than in the middle
where confusion lay and thoughts
ran wild. It finishes so well
with an exchange of something
which began so far back
time couldn't even comprehend.
It's all ended now,
with a tinge of sadness,
and it lies discretely in the earth
which will forever be walked on.
It won't forget
even when I have;
so the story will remain
buried in the earth,
not for me but for others
who trod this path in time.

Nonsense

The often forgotten choices grow from the ground.