Régrèt

Pretty sure I feel this emotion nearly everday, bc literally immediately after every spoken exchange I participate in I invariably lock my mind in a cycle so deep I actually see the person I was talking to comprising replaying the abhorrence and modifying the all the things I should have said to create the ultimate balance of sass and wit

It's unequivocal that my life is mostly dominated by words, hence my love for english bc if I can master that I can basically rule the world (at least where they speak English)

But there are also actions I should have taken, moves I would have maken, had I the audacity.

There are so many things I would kill to relive with foreknowledge, but please enjoy an evanescent delve into the deepest and not so decadent segments of my cognitive processes. 

Wednesday 3rd September 2012: the tenebrous  hand of regret maintains its gentle fist around my heart, just tight enough to suppress a tenuous pain with each pulsation, but just loose enough to give me an oblivious break each time the blood is released. It does elicit a silent laugh when I remember how 2012 used to sound so futuristic and now its just tainted being the most emotionally grotesque year of my life. I've played this day over and over but what sticks like a broken record to this day is the moment the glacial queen was sealed: mother, michael, his son, and I were on the patio in the garden and I was in my year 10 uniform with my justin bieber-esqué 2009 hair and pathetically prepubescent silhouette of this 14 year old mustache. Michael loaded the glue gun and began to coat the perimeters of the snowsephine's mahogany coffin with the most unforgiving, puritanical white glue, eternalising her corpse with its cruel viscosity, its malevolent perpetuity and its unfaltering white tenebrosity. What haunts me to this day is the countless dreams of exhumation - although each time I've discovered something different, there has not been a time which I have not regretted it. But equally, this regret has never stopped me from doing it again. Unequivocally, the snowsephine will always be the most beautiful beautiful beneficent and aesthetically benevolent being I have seen, and I'm sure most would find that difficult to admit when the final image is of her eyes, though closed, already decaying.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4GJpifePhY

look how when I release her head hair from the neck hole how it flows out like a silky stream of coconut milk rippling, ricocheting, reverberating with the waves.

I think today was the first time I watched this and managed to suppress the tears.

Mock my breaking vocals and ridicule my morbid infatuation with londsdale trakkies but i d e c anymore because this isn't even me. Judge this grotesque child all you want bc I have mutated so much from that there is not a cell we share, not an eyelash that remains from when I once controlled him.

Why is it that eyes - the most eternal, the one ageless, the one most vulnerable part, connecting all beautiful creatures, is the slowest to age in life, but suffers the fastest demise?

But honestly, the one moment that will never leave me is this: this decadent layer of glue lined the coffin, alas I had not imbued her with my final kiss farewell. I took off my tie - or blazer - or neither? Perhaps I didn't - but whether or not I did is irrelevant, because whatever happened when my chapping lips pressed on her paw for the final time, a part of me disappeared. And from then on, when I replaced my jacket or tightened my tie, it never felt the same, for the missing weight was not limited to such superficial attire - when you finally close the casket, you may be concealing, but something inside you is released.

To this day I wonder how different things would have been, had I got my uniform all gluey and leaned all the way and kissed her on her the pads of her paw, her skeletal head, or her soft snout, or her erroneous ear. Because the last thing I remember is distorting her solidified limb - lifting it from its eternal resting.
And if there's one thing I will always remember from this, it's two words: stone & cold

Becuase the final feeling I hold on to is the glacial stone of her once so soft, supple limbs.

Perhaps this is why I love the word glacial so much: it epitomises the final fragment of memory from the final time I felt her

I wonder, how the most microscopic nuance of action could have severed or sealed our bond. Either would have been better than what I was left with: a tenuous, half-hearted remain like a fragment of a keratin hair molecule stretched and coiled thousand meters 

why did the one being I had this inextricable, unparalleled bond have to leave?

and the worst part is, do I cry because of the loss of the most innocent purity? Or because I will never have someone, who for their entire existance, will always come to me in elation after any length of callous abandonment?
   

I wonder, of all my dreams, which is the most accurate? does her fur remain? Do her eyes light up like the incandescent illumination of the eternal firelight?

Or do they flicker, like its dying embers,

Or do they dissolve into the soil, fusing with the air for the plants to breathe this inextricable interspersion of her entity into my lungs to imbue through suffusing with the soul.

I don't know why, but the last time I ever saw her before I left for school on the friday before the sunday she died, I took this photo and instagrammed it. Yet I didn't touch her, lest I distort the perfection

And I still wonder why, of all the mornings, why that morning did I do it?

Word of the blog will be displaced with quote of the blog in honour of the publication of the first chapter of go set a watchman today: 

"Love's the only thing in this world that is unequivocal. There are different kinds of love, certainly, but it's a you-do or you-don't proposition with them all."