I know how to balance in silence. How to stay still amongst voices that fade into white noise.
I balance inside my bubble as if I was born floating on air, a still creature behind a see-through, unbendable surface that separates the inside from the outside, the side of the world where the lights are dim and the feelings are bold from the other side. From the side of the world where blinding lights are scratching through soft flesh, drowning the subtleties, the nuances of whatever it is that makes us human.
I know how to open the door for you so you can step into my head if you need to. So you can find a safe seat inside and watch my thoughts explode around you, in slow motion.
I can even smile if I feel like I need you to take some space in the void of my head, if I feel that I need someone to share a piece of my chaos but only for a little while. I know how to smile, even when it’s dark outside, even when it’s so dark that you can’t see me smiling on the inside.
But there’s also a lot I don’t know, so much in fact that I often lose balance when you are close by. So you should know that’s why I fall when you walk next to me, that’s why my voice shakes when I feel your breath hovering in the air we share, that’s why the words are trapped at the tip of my teeth when you are too close to my skin, so close that my skin starts shrinking and sweating. The truth of the matter is that I know how to hold on to those who have already reached out for me, but I cannot reach out for those my heart screams out for when the lights go off, when the late hours of the day find me searching for sleep wide awake.
I can help you to balance in silence if you want to. We’ll let soft music play until the noises seem covered in serene, white snow. I’ll hold your hand as we find completeness in empty space, as we draw full circles to recover from the bruises we sustain from the sharp edges we are drawn to. And when your eyes dry out, I’ll offer you my tears, and when your lips dry out I’ll spill out the words of my soul until you are soaked, swept, drowning in emotion.
You’ll realise pretty quickly that I consume myself pretty quickly, that I don’t know how to stop myself from burning like a candle and – what’s even worse – that I tend to burn faster when I burn alone. I know how to give, but when I give, I give give give like there’s no way of giving up, like the only way to give up is to give in to your daemons. I may be fire, burning with life, but it’s the dead that I am trying to save most of the time.
Here’s the thing with rational artists. They know how to revive themselves from the ashes. But they also know too well how to hold on to the ashes when all they wanna do is let go. Here’s the things with rational artists. They know how to fix the broken, perhaps a little too well. Piece by piece they glue life together, month by month they watch life burn right in front of their eyes.
Here’s the thing with rational artists. They know how to love you, even in your absence, even in silence and perhaps a little too well. Here’s the thing, and you should know not to let them have that spot inside your head unless you are prepared to let them stay.
Here’s what I wanted to tell you tonight. Not on paper but in person, if only I knew how. I would know how to warm you up if the night got too cold for you, but I would freeze to death if I had to call for your arms to come and find mine. You see, I know how to smile, but I tend to hide when I have to cry. You see, I tend to smile as I watch others reach out for you when all I can do is observe the shadows of those who come and go with such grace, such speed, such little worry and care.
If I tried for a lifetime, I’d probably still not know how to let you go. So maybe, maybe it’s better this way.
I know how to balance in silence, so maybe, maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s better on this side.
You are welcome to join me and all my observations, and all the subtleties and all the nuances that would make us human (together).
Rational Artist 