“On March 11, 889 CE, 17 year-old Emperor Uda wrote:
‘On the 6th day of the 2nd Month of the First Year of the Kampo era. Taking a moment of my free time, I wish to express my joy of the cat. It arrived by boat as a gift to the late Emperor, received from the hands of Minamoto no Kuwasahi.
The color of its fur is peerless. None could find the words to describe it, although one said it was reminiscent of the deepest ink. It has an air about it, similar to Kanno. Its length is 5 sun, and its height is 6 sun. I affixed a bow about its neck, but it did not remain for long.
In rebellion, it narrows its eyes and extends its needles. It shows its back.
When it lies down, it curls in a circle like a coin. you cannot see its feet. It’s as if it were a circular Bi disk. When it stands, its cry expresses profound loneliness, like a black dragon floating above the clouds.
By nature, it stalks birds. It lowers its head and works its tail. It can extend its spine to raise its height by at least 2 sun. Its color allows it to disappear at night. I am convinced it is superior to all other cats.’”
Some days we are reunited, some days you are alive again in my dreams, in those moments before you crash. Before you end.
I see you there, I love you there, you are still and whole and I just see you.
7-8 years ago I walked this path with my abuser. He agreed to explain why he did what he did and I agreed to listen. We climbed to the top of this mountain and worked out someway to keep on going, status quo. To keep our families together.
But coming down from the peak I was angrier, more confused and still full of vengeful fire.
Ive avoided this trail ever since. It was always the trail I climbed with “him”.
Today I climbed it once more, the rain, lite in it’s comfort, delicately stripping his power over the trail away. I climbed that mountain today. Just me.
But it’s the same mountain I climb every day knowing hes out there with a new family of his own, one with young children. The same mountain I swallow every time his name is in my mother or father’s mouth, rolling around, casual quips about his new wife and how lifes just so great for them. My family does not know the sick taste of his name like I do, maybe they never will. He was my brothers best friend, our families intricately intertwined and I could not invite implosion. I was and still am scared of whose side would be taken, especially now after such time.
I am tired of this mountain, of carrying it endlessly on my back, swallowing it, going around it, climbing to the top.
Today was a small victory. A reclaimed mountain, physical tangible proof I can find a way to keep living with this. With this fucking mountain.
“If for one minute you think you’re better than a sixteen year old girl in a Green Day t-shirt, you are sorely mistaken. Remember the first time you went to a show and saw your favourite band. You wore their shirt and sang every word. You didn’t know anything about scene, politics, haircuts, or what was cool. All you knew was that this music made you feel different from anyone you shared a locker with. Someone finally understood you. This is what music is about.”
Gerard Way (via monroeville)
