The Siren.

I feel shattered. I heard something terrible today. And I'm not sure what to do with myself.

A few years ago, I had a blog called Siren. There was one post for which I was applauded for by a fellow blogger, who I thought was a really awesome girl, so it meant a lot to me. I remember roughly what it was about. It was during the times when it was me and my thoughts, and love, well, it was so much simpler. God knows why I decided to write it at that time, because things were never as dire and complicated as that. Even if it might have felt it. I've drudged it up again, and here it is:

demise

10th November 2003

I want you to be free
don't worry about me
and just like the movies
we'll play out our last scene
if you don't cry I won't scream

Dare I scream or make a sound again? Too many have wandered off the path in answer to the deafening silence of my siren call, lured moths they are to the light, flying ever closer surrounding me all of a flutter one second, dropping back dead the next. This is the demise of a cursed half-beauty, never quite beautiful. To every bright there is a dark side. The side that will turn them all to dust. The side that will eventually destroy them. Does it occur to you not why it is the gruesome moth that infatuates with such an subject far beyond their league to reach, and not the handsome butterfly? Their fascination with the brilliant radiance that seduces them through the darkest of nights will continue to be the reason of their destruction.

We may all have come to know one. The siren. She is the oxygen you dare to breathe. Feeding life into all, fueling you with all you need. Oh giver of life, what harm can you do if you provide us with such things? Oh those who dare to breathe, know you not it is your very life source than greys you with age? Know you not that it is she who fuels fire that over time has been the destruction of so many beautiful things? Ironic is it not that the very thing vital for survivial, is the very thing that chisels the lines of age upon your face and renders you useless within time.

She is the rain. Essential already to the world we know that withdrawal symptoms could be fatal. She is the monsoon rain that will drown you, the cigarette that got you addicted, the ice cream that ruined your diet, the first kiss from a new found lover, the first rays of sun that hint of a drought of a summer. She is the siren. She is your destruction.

How would it feel to have everything she touches turn to dust?

-Aimi, aged 15 on siren//chimera reformed

Well now I know. It has never felt so real, until now.