I am irrefutably shy, in spite of possible bold first impressions and sporadic confessions of honesty, unwavering words and pinpoint clarity.
In a room filled with people gravitating in spaces not mine alone, it takes all of me to hold still and breathe. I am unable to understand how can one just co-exist in situations unplanned, in places new. Anchors I look for, to steady the tumultuous waves of my anxious heartbeat.
You are safe now, are the words whispered, is the hand that holds mine, are the eyes glancing quietly, is the folded origami crane before me.
And though I fear the impending darkness, I know that these things will keep me secure for a little longer.
Not all secrets have to be filled with the weight of a drowned corpse, guilt hanging on the leg one cannot shake loose. I am accustomed to keeping sad things secret, but more so for the happy things too.
There’s something about preciousness that cannot be shared with others, lest beauty and wonder is lost. Don’t gain partial ownership or the ability to change it up, let it stay an unbroken memory for the cold days ahead. I am no fool, to leave a gem on the beach for the enchanting ocean to steal.
Call me selfish, and I will perhaps find no heart to deny — for sometimes we hold on so tightly until the insides of our palms make crescent cries. Take a look at what is photographed in quiet, the boundless whispers stalking across the mind. The things to immortalise.
I don’t know about you (if you exist), but for me? With numbers need not be told, I have stood in a place watching, hoping to remember for always.
So much power in the act of writing, or so I choose to place my faith in. I have written letters for people with no faces and no names, crafting pieces for an unknown recipient. I do not think that I am foolish for trying something unreturned, for who knows if in these secret doings will someone find reason to hope again?
Leave a scattering on the car window, pages of old, table worn and other possible places. Run like the wind, don’t get caught or the magic spell may find itself undone.
In my timid heart I do fear that I may be playing with fire, but I will continue building and see if there is more than this fragile house of cards.
Paradoxical creature that I am, set on caring for the entire world yet hiding like a timid mouse in the corners of my complicated mind. What is one supposed to do when the heart can no longer handle such a massive amount of loving.
Teach me to stop running when the shadows loom frighteningly large, to accept the apparent favour of another. Please stop my ears from hearing what others cannot.
My eyes, they perceive meaning in things unmeant. Tile floors have shapes and house bricks display signs. As anxiety builds, sometimes the ground rushes up to meet me. And so I fall.
How is it that my ability to function varies so immensely?